The Sympathy of the People 



By 
John Pratt Whitman 



/ 



The Sympathy of the People 

By John Pratt Whitman 



PREFACE 

The plot of "The Sympathy of the People" was sug- 
gested and inspired by the naw historic policemen's strike 
in Boston on September 9, 1919. 

Like all plays and works of fiction there is no attempt 
to adhere to facts either in the course of events or in the 
characters portrayed. In the Boston police strike there 
was no important love affair, no Lucy Knowles, no Dennis 
Wiggs, no Grimes, and no banks were broken into. 

In Boston today there are many, who like Samuel 
Gompers, believe the disastrous strike was "framed" in 
order to allow labor to ride to a fall, as it apparently did. 

No event could have been staged — if it were staged — 
with greater genius and with results more far-reaching in 
the struggle between capital and labor. From coast to 
coast there set in a reaction against labor which did much 
to carry a conservative president into office, with the" illus- 
trious governor of Massachusetts for second place. 

Of course, a considerable portion of substantial Boston 
denies vehemently any preconceived plot to injure the 
labor unions and the labor movement generally. 

Who is right or who is wrong in the controversy the 
author does not pretend to say. 

He saw a possible plot ; he took advantage of a great 
drama enacted in real life ; and he shaped a dramatic story 
in a faraway town which would make a thrilling and ab- 
sorbing play. 

Here is an attempt to give amusement; to depict real 
human characters; to provide wholesome fun; and to 
mirror deep and absorbing love in artistic and dramatic 
form— for, after all, "THE PLAY'S THE THING!" 



"The Sympathy of the People" 

^K^ A Drama of Today— In Four Acts 

^t'^^\ — 

^ ^ Ov(>* ^*^* °^ Characters: 

GRIMES. Veteran Bookkeeper in Bank 

LIZZIE Woman of All Work 

SAMMIE .Village Newsboy 

LUCY KNOWLES Niece of Banker Knowles, Employed in Bank 

IRA HATHAWAY Special Bank Officer — Guardian of People's Money 

ROBERT P. KNOWLES President and Director of Mapleton Bank 

DENNIS W. WIGGS Farm Hand, Timid in the Dark 

MRS. DENNIS WIGGS Wife of Dennis, and Head of the Family 

JASON Mill Hand 

TONY PATRONI Mill Hand 

TOM WALSH Head of Metal Trades Union 

PRESTON MORTON Manufacturer, and Head of Munition Factory 

JUDGE DAVID HILTON President of Red Lands Oil Company 

BILL KRAMER. . • Editor and Owner of Loganville Courier 

SPIKE . . • Confederate, Crook 

DUMPY Confederate, Crook 

DESPERADO Nameless, and a Bad One 

Pj^L • Devil's Assistant 

BANK CASHIER 

MAGGIE The Crook 

BILLINGS, ANNA SWARTZ, HENNESSY, WIDOW SMITH, ABE MORRIS, 

Mill Hands 

JOE MILLER Sheriff 

CITIZENS, BANK CUSTOMERS, ETC. 



Scene — The Interior of the Mapleton 
Bank. 

Extending across rear is the grUl 
with two cashiers' windows. Through 
the decorative iron work may he seen 
the outer hank, two large plate glass 
windows framing a pleasant landscape. 
At the right of the grill is the large 
safe. At the left end of grill is a 
gate connecting the inner with the 
outer bank. Off left, not in view, is 
front, door to which is attached a bell. 
The sound of the opening of door is 
important. A banker's desk with 
swivel chair and other chairs are left. 
On opposite side of room is a desk 
and typewriter; a tall desk holding the 
bank ledgers, and by it is a high stool. 

There is a door down left, and two 
doors right leading to offices. 



It is early morning, the window cur- 
tains are stiU down, and a night light 
burns. The door is heard to open, and 
Grimes, the veteran bookkeeper, ap- 
pears and enters inner bank. 

He is a man of fifty, iron gray, stoop- 
ing shoulders, prematurely wrinkled, 
thin, and apologetic. His dress and 
entire make-up are scrupulously neat. 
He has a tired appearance. His hat and 
coat he hangs on a rack, and he then 
goes to his ledger to work after turn- 
ing on the electric light above his head. 

Lizzie, the scrub woman and general 
cleaner, enters. She has a coal hod in 
one hand and duster in the other. She 
is a middle-aged woman, not foreign in 
appearance, a village personage who 
has had a common school education, 
and is the mother of a healthy family 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



of children. She is sympathetic and 
motherly, and is surprised to see 
Grimes at his desk so early. 

LIZZIE — You are at your books 
ear]y, Mr. Grimes? 

GKIMES— (He is rather deaf)— Eh? 

LIZZIE— (Louder)— You are in 
early, Mr. Grimes. 

GKIMES— My hooks wouldn't bal- 
ance last night, and I worked till 
twelve. 

LIZZIE— (Puzzled)— Balance is it? 
They are sure heavy enough to balance 
ajiything of their size. What do you 
mean by balance? 

GRIMES — The books have to show 
where the money is. If they don't 
they can't balance. There has to be as 
much on the books as there is in the 
safe. There is thirty cents out some- 
where. 

LIZZIE — Is that all it is? and you 
working night and day to find it. Why 
don't you stop looking in those old 
musty books for it and search the floor 
and under the rugs? 

GRIMES— What's that? 

LIZZIE — (Loudly, while she gets out 
her poeketbook.) If it's thirty cents 
will balance your books, here it is and 
welcome you are. (Hands Grimes 
change.) 

GRIMES — (Refusing.) You don't un- 
derstand, Lizzie; the books show that 
there is thirty cents more in the bank 
than these figures account for. You 
see — 

LIZZIE — Oh, if it would make it 
any easier, I'll take that extra thirty 
pennies and say nothin' about it, and 
you can go home an finish your sleep. 

GRIMES — You can't help in that 
way. (With a gesture of impatience 
hands Lizzie a paper upon which many 
columns of figures have been scribbled.) 
Lizzie, if you can find where I have 
missed thirty cents you might become 
a bank auditor. 

LIZZIE — When I was in school they 
called me the champion adder. 

GRIMES— (Does not hear what 
Lizzie has said.) Mr. Knowles is al- 
ways out of patience when he can't 
begin the day with the books straight; 
he gets very angry. It isn't pleasant, 
Lizzie, not pleasant at all. (Forgets 
Lizzie, and buric head in books, hears 
notliing.) 

LIZZIE— (Sitting in chair left.) 
Shows by face and fingers she is trying 



to add. Aloud.) Four and eight, and six, 
and two, and — My soul, what a lot of 
money — oh, I'm all mixed up — and I 
the grand adder that I was. (Counts on 
fingers.) It's no use; it's too much to 
keep in one person's head. 

There is no balance in these figers, 
Mr. Grimes. Balance, balance — how can 
anything balance in this bank any- 
way? 

How does your salary balance w^' 
that of Mr. Knowles? And how does 
my daily wages balance with all the 
money in that safe? You say, Mr. 
Knowles wiU be angry to learn that 
thirty cents is gone; he hasn't any 
balance, that's sure. 

Ten and three is thirteen — there are 
too many thirteens in these figers; 
thirteens don't go with me. Eight and 
six is — there's another thirteen. 

There's a combination in this bank 
that don't balance — two and two is 
four; I like figers when they come like 
that — There is Miss Lucy, Banker 
Knowles' own niece, workin' here like 
a slave. I'll begin at the top and run 
down — eight and nine is seventeen, and 
six is (counts slowly) twenty-three — 
another hoodoo. Miss Lucy is one fine 
young lady, and she's got two grand 
young men both tryin' to balance with 
her at the same time. That's a three 
combination that work's bad for one — 
I wonder which will be the one — 
twenty-three and seven are thirty — 
(Takes pencil from Knowles' desk and 
copies figures on another page of 
paper). 

Ned Errickson looks to me as though 
he was tipping the scales and holdin' 
Miss Lucy's heart over there in 
France; there is more glory in killin' 
folks on the other side of the world 
than protectin' the bank at home like 
Ira Hathaway does. Them that stay at 
home have precious little chance to 
show whether they are brave or not. 

If Ira could only brace up and show 
what's in him he might have a show, 
bein' he's right here on the ground— 
these fresh figers are better, I can see 
'em plainer — five and five and three. 
This looks bad, Mr. Grimes (Looks to- 
wards Grimes, who has not heard any- 
thing. She goes over to him and 
speaks loudly.) Do they balance yet, 
Mr. Grimes? 

GRIMES— Not yet. 

LIZZIE — I'm sorry for you, Mr. 



2 



DEC 23 1920 



©CI.D 



5 68 



i i 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



Grimes; and Mr. Knowles comin' any 
moment. Why don't you go where they 
wouldn't drive you so hard over thirty 
cents? 

GRIMES — I have been twenty years 
in this bank, Lizzie, and Mr. Knowles 
is a just and honest man even if he is 
hard at times. 

It is because he is fair that I 
stay and work for him. I had rather 
starve than work for a man who 
isn't square. If Mr. Knowles should 
ever do anything like that I would 
send in my — what am I talking about, 
he never would. Bell rings. Enter 
Sammie, Newsboy.) 

SAMMIE — Mr. Knowles' paper. 
Shall I leave it on his desk? 

LIZZIE — (Taking up figures again.) 
I reckon, but don't bother. Mr. Grimes 
and I are balancing the books, before 
the boss comes in and gets mad. Eight 
and four is twelve, and one — (counting 
on fingers). 

SAMMIE— If it's addin' figures, I 
am the man you are looking for. I'm a 
star mathematician, second year High. 

You say it's got to be done before 
Mr. Knowles comes in or he'll be 
peeved. All right, give me one of them 
— those papers. (Takes paper.) Gee, is 
all this money in the bank? (In loud 
voice.) Thirty-two and fifteen is — are 
— forty-seven, and eleven are fifty- 
eight, and sixty -five is — (scratches 
head). (Outside door is heard to open.) 

LIZZIE — Oh, there he comes. Now 
we'll catch it for not havin' the books 
balanced. Six and six are thirteen, and 
two more is two more, and nine is nine 
more, and, oh dear, I'm all mixed up 
and don't know which are dollars and 
what is sense. 

SAMMIE — Twenty and thirty-two 
are fifty-two and eighteen are — is — 

LIZZIE — Twenty-two and two is 
twenty-four, and — (counts on fingers). 

LUCY — (Enter Lucy Knowles. She 
stands smiling and amazed. She is a 
comely girl with a charming manner^ a 
girl of culture and education, combined 
with quick sympathies and executive 
ability. Her first appearance shows 
her a friend worth having.) I declare, 
what is all the figgerin"? Is this a 
regular arithmetic lesson? 

SAMMIE — We thought you was — 
were — Mr. Knowles, and the books 
wasn't balanced, and — 

LIZZIE — It was like this, Miss Lucy. 



Mr. Grimes worked here till twelve 
last night, and his books wouldn't bal- 
ance, and he came early to see if he 
couldn't make 'em come out right, and 
we was helpin' him. He don't know 
what has become of thirty cents. 

LUCY— Oh, that's it, is it? (Goes 
to Grimes, who has not noticed what 
has been taking place.) Lizzie tells me 
you are shy thirty cents; can I help 
you? 

GRIMES — (Looking up with grati- 
tude.) I should be most grateful. My 
books show too much, and I can't put 
my finger on the trouble. 

LUCY — (Runs over figures.) These 
add all right. Have you yesterday's 
checks? (Grimes brings package of 
checks.) (She runs over them.) Here's 
your mistake, Grimes, and it's really 
my fault; I meant to warn you yester- 
day of this check. That is a one, but 
someone started to make a four, and 
you copied it as four. Are you sure 
that your difference is thirty cents? 

GRIMES— (Eelieved.) Thank you, 
Miss Lucy. You seem to be the one 
who always puUs me out of a hole. 
Your uncle never allows excuses. 

SAMMIE — Hurrah! We've balanced 
the books. Come, Mrs. Mack, I guess 
you and I can go now. 

LUCY — Hold on, Sammie, I want a 
paper. (Gives five cents. Boy starts 
to make change.) Never mind the 
change, Sam; your work on the books 
is surely worth three cents. 

LIZZIE — Not much more I guess. 

SAMMIE — Well, your figerin' didn't 
get you very far. 

LIZZIE — (Nettled.) I was consid- 
ered the best at figgerertti' in school 
where I went. (Following Sam out, 
both disputing about their respective 
merits in arithmetic. Lucy opens her 
typewriter desk and dusts machine. 
Ira Hathaway enters from left. Tall, 
pleasant appearing man wearing the 
uniform of a special officer. He limps 
slightly. He is guardian of the bank 
and has charge of all details of the 
building. A responsible position re- 
quiring intelligence and even courage.) 

IRA — Good morning. Miss Lucy; 
morning Grimes. (Goes to large win- 
dows and pulls shades letting in a flood 
of morning sunshine. He puts out hall 
light, and then takes his tools and be- 
gins to fix catch on door into grill. He 
whistles softly.) 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



LUCY — You are in good spirits. Has 
the siuishine got into your tongue? 

IRA — Did you ever hear of anyone 
whistling to keep up his spirits? 

LUCY — You are a fine actor then, 
and should join our dramatic club. Our 
play comes off next week, "The Lion 
and the Mouse. ' ' What kind of a mouse 
do you think I'll make? 

IRA — (Stopping work and coming a 
few steps toward Lucy.) I don't ex- 
actly think of you as a mouse, and I've 
seen you talking to your uncle in a way 
quite different from a mouse. No; you 
are not my idea of a mouse, and I 
ought to know. 

LUCY — (Looks about with apprehen- 
sion.) I abominate the little wretches. 
Do you mean there are mice in this 
bank? 

IRA — No, I don't remember that I 
ever saw a mouse here, but in my pal- 
ace-de-royal over the shed there are 
plenty. I think some fond mother has 
set up a nest in my corn husk mattress, 
by the sound. 

LUCY — That sounds pleasant, but 
really I am in earnest about our dra- 
matic club. Since all the boys went to 
camp and overseas we have the hardest 
time to get any men to do the male 
parts. Couldn't you come to the hall 
next Thursday evening? 

IRA — Are you joking. Miss Lucy? 
What time do you think an officer like 
me has to join in good times? My job 
is here every night in the week, and 
your uncle ha.s told me more than once 
that I am to trust to no substitute. 

LUCY — How many hours do you 
work anjrway? 

IRA — I am on duty from seventy 
to eighty hours each week, and I hard- 
ly know a holiday unless someone re- 
minds me. 

LUCY — That Isn't right; you ought 
to have at least one night a week to 
go to a dance, or to a social where you 
can forget everything but a good time. 

IRA — That sounds fine when you talk 
abotit it like that, but I have my bread 
and butter to earn, and then there is 
mother, so here I am tied to my post 
with some quiet time to read. The 
books you have lent me, Lucy, are just 
like friends. 

LUCY — Have you finished "Co-op- 
erative Banking " ? I want to read it 
again. 

IRA — Yes, I'll go and get it right 



now. (Runs out door left.) (Lucy 
reads her paper.) 

LUCY — Mr. Grimes. (Louder.) 

Grimes, come here a minute. (Grimes 
comes to Lucy.) Here is something that 
might interest you. (Shows Grimes ad- 
vertisement in paper of audi-phone. He 
shakes his liead skeptically. Reads.) 
"The audiphone guarantees a distinct 
sound, and will bring hearing back to 
nine out of ten. If given a thorough 
try it will gather up the minutest 
sounds and transmit them to the audi- 
tory nerves. Give it a fair try, and if 
it fails, return the instrument at our 
expense. ' ' 

GRIMES — I haven't any faith in 
such a contrivance. 

LUCY — I'll order that for you on 
trial if you will promise to follow my 
directions for at least two weeks. 

GRIMES — If you really want the sat- 
isfaction of seeing it fail, I'll do the 
best I can to show you it's no use. I'll 
go through with it I suppose. 

LUCY — It isn't a question whether 
you will go through it, but whether 
SOUND will go through it, and that is 
worth trying. It's a bargain. Grimes? 
(Grimes shakes hands and goes back to 
books.) (Lucy starts to write order on 
typewriter.) Wouldn't it be wonder- 
ful if you could get your hearing, 
Grimes? (Grimes does not hear.) 
(Ira returns with book. Gives it to 
Lucy.) That's my idea of business, 
everybody having a share and respon- 
sibility. 

IRA — It is a wonderful idea. What 
do you say? Let's start a co-operative 
bank. You be the banker, and I drum 
up trade. 

LUCY — We'll make a specialty of 
financing co-operative movements. We 
might get an entire village into one 
big co-operative company and then — 

IRA — And then what? 

LUCY — Be told by the wise bankers 
like my uncle that we are foolish 
dreamers. 

IRA — Suppose he should, what dif- 
ference would it make, if an entire vil- 
lage shared in the good things instead 
of one or two families? 

LUCY — I shall lend you no more 
books, young man, depend on that. No 
such idealism has a ghost of a chance 
of realization. Socialism may be an 
ideal, but (imitating uncle) men are far 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



too selfish to live on any such theory; 
as my uncle would say. 

IRA — I certainly don't see any op- 
portunity of carrying anything out in 
this bank like co-operation. The salaries 
we get show how much your uncle 
wants to share his profits with us. 

LUCY — Don't try to get me into an 
economic controversy. I hear uncle 
rave so often over what he calls rob- 
bery by employes, confiscation of legiti- 
mate profits by labor delegates, hold- 
ups, he calls them, that I refuse to take 
sides. 

IRA — But they bring more to the 
bank. 

LUCY — That is just it; as a banker 
who takes those savings and loans out 
money for rates from 5 to 100 per cent, 
he is not half so angry as he is as part 
owner in the factory. 

IRA — How does it make you feel, 
Lucy, when those factory girls, hardly 
able to speak English, bring in their 
wages? 

LUCY — Many of them are getting 
more than I do. Uncle says my job is 
respectable and worth something be- 
cause of the position it gives me in 
Mapleton. I had rather be less respect- 
able and have more money. 

IRA — That is exactly what I told 
your uncle, and he grew angry. We 
bank employes have to take our pay in 
respectability; about four dollars worth 
of respectability with every three dol- 
lars in wages. I have hinted to your 
nncle, and I have frankly asked him a 
dozen times to raise my salary, but he 
won't do a thing. 

LUCY — (Turning: and faeino- Ira.) 
The trouble with you, Ira, is that you 
are altogether too meek with uncle. 
I've heard you speaking about the con- 
dition of the room he gives you, and I 
have also heard you putting the matter 
of wages up to liim. You don't know 
how to talk to such a man. What he 
needs occasionally a good bowling 
out. Such men do not appreciate meek- 
ness. I advise you to go at him like 
you meant business. 

IRA — Talk as though I would strike 
if he didn't pay attention to my re- 
quests? 

LUCY — Certainly, why not? 

IRA — That's all well enough, but 
you know perfectly well the reason I'm 
not in the factory or in the hay field 
is because I am not physically able to do 



the work. . What job could I get if I 
left here? If it were not for mother I 
might take a chance, but as things are 
I have to stick and make the best of it. 

LUCY — You are too timid, Ira Hath- 
av/ay, and if you keep on in this mouse 
fashion you'll never get a raise or a 
better room. I know that men are the 
rarest articles in the market just now, 
and there isn't anyone who could or 
would take your place. Of course, if 
uncle wanted to pay mill wages he 
might get someone, but even then 
there are few who would work so many 
hours. You have the whip hand if you 
only knev/ it and had the courage to 
fare the music. 

IRA — You have no right to say that 
I am not brave and lack courage. I'd 
be in the trenches with Ned Errickson 
and all the rest of them if they would 
have accepted me. You know that, 
Lucy. 

LUCY — It isn't only in the trenches 
courage is required. If Ned were here 
at home he would be finding some way 
to show the red blood that is in him. 
It isn't only fighting at the front a 
girl admires. The fact is, I can't bear 
to think of our village boys killing 
anyone. I wish war would leave the 
killing out, and I hope Ned wont have 
to kiU any of those poor deluded 
(shudders) enemy. 

Just now the world needs courage 
at home as much as abroad, and it is a 
scarce article, Ira. 
MAIL CARRIER— (Outside). Mail. 

LUCY — There is the mail, bring it in, 
please, there may be word from Ned. 
(Ira brings in mail. Lucy looks it 
over and is disappointed as she finds 
nothing from Ned. Knowles^ the bank- 
er, enters and is seen for a moment in 
the rear of the bank. Ira works indus- 
triously on his lock, while Lucy ex- 
amines mail. Knowles enters inner 
bank and proceeds to take off wraps. 
Talks to Ira without looking at him.) 

(Knowles is a typical appearing 
country banker wearing a gray suit. 
He is gray about the temples and is 
clean shaven. He is rather thick set, 
and his every move, look and gesture 
betrays him to be a money maker and 
a worshipper of the dollar. When inside 
the grill he speaks with irritation, im- 
periously, as an autocrat in his own 
domain.) 

KNOWLES — What is the matter 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



With the sidewalk, Ira? It's indecent, 
absolutely indecent with old papers 
and leaves right up to the doorway. I 
should be ashamed to have a customer 
see that iilth. I suppose you know the 
sidewalk is one of your lookouts? 

IRA — Yes, sir; I was intending to 
get right at it. 

ICMOWLES— Well, do it at once; 
and hereafter make it one of your first 
chores — (looking significantly at Lucy) 
— and postpone your social calls. (Ira 
starts to make reply, but thinks better 
of it and goes out front.) (Knowles sits 
at his desk.) Come, Lucy, let's have 
the mail. I ought to be hearing from 
those oil shares. They tell me the Red 
Lands are beginning to spurt. 

LUCY — Here are your letters and pa- 
pers, uncle, and there is one from the 
Red Lands Oil Company. 

KNOWLES— (Tearing letter open 
hastily and reading.) No, Higgins says 
the big day has not yet arrived, but a 
strike is looked for any moment. 
There's millions out there, Lucy, and 
Judge Hilton is one of the shrewdest 
financial organizers in the world. I 
told him once he would carry the earth 
in his vest pocket some day, and he 
knows how to handle labor better than 
any man living. (Discovers postal 
sticking to another envelope.) (Reads.) 
"We are in the thick of it now, Lucy, 

I can tell you " Hello, what kind 

of business is this? It strikes me as 
queer banking. It's from Ned Errick- 
son; so, ho, and it is addressed to Miss 
Lucy Knowles. (Lucy takes postal 
eagerly.) I think it would be better, 
young lady, if your gentlemen friends 
and soldiers doing duty in France 
would address you at home. 

LUCY — Oh, uncle, Ned has been in 
a big engagement, and has come 
through without a scratch and with 
honors. How wonderful! He must own 
a charmed life. 

KNOWLES— (Looking with kindly 
interest at Lucy.) I am inclined to be- 
lieve he does own a charmed life, but 
that particular life may be right here 
in Mapleton instead of in the trenches. 

LUCY — I don't know what you 
mean. Ned and I have never been in- 
timate, but I do admire him for his 
spirit and courage. Somehow, I like 
to believe he wouldn't be rough and 
cruel like some soldiers I have read 
about. (Ira has entered and stands 



silently in the rear, while Lucy is 
speaking of Ned and bravery. He is 
ev'idently much moved. When she fin- 
ishes speaking he comes down to the 
banker with determination written on 
his face, and indicated by his bearing.) 

KNOWLES— (Taking "no notice of 
Ira.) You needn't hesitate, Lucy. He 
is one of the finest young men in this 
town, and with a great future before 
him. If it's pluck and bravery you 
like, he's got his full share of both. 
You can take it from me, if he finds 
himself in a nest of Huns it will be 
one sad day for his enemies, or they 
will find him dead at his post. There 
isn't a man with his courage in these 
parts. 

IRA — May I have a word with you, 
sir, on business? 

KNOWLES— (Nettled at interrup- 
tion, but seeing that Ira is determined, 
motions Lucy to her desk.) Must we 
be alone? Woixld you prefer the young 
lady retire? 

IRA — I should like to be alone with 
you, sir. 

KNOWLES — (Looks curiously at 
Ira, and then motions for Lucy to re- 
tire.) (She takes her papers and goes 
out, but gives Ira an understanding 
look as she does so.) 

LUCY — Very weU, uncle, I shall be 
in the next room if you want me. 

KNOWLES — (Sorting papers a mo- 
ment, then looking keenly at the young 
man in front of him.) Well, what is it? 
This is a busy morning, as you know, 
and the mill people will be here with 
their pay envelopes before long. Be 
brief. 

IRA — I want to speak about that 
room of mine again. 

KNOWLES— (With rising anger.) 
So that's it, is it. What's the matter 
with that room anyway? I'm getting 
sick and tired of your complaints. That 
room over the shed is better than most 
of the people in this town enjoy, to 
say nothing of the mill hands. I sup- 
pose you want quarters in a parlor of 
the Ritz Carlton or some other New 
York hotel. 

IRA — No, I do not. I want justice 
and fair treatment. I make it my busi- 
ness to guard this bank faithfully, and 
you trust me, and you know I would 
not leave my post in the face of dan- 
ger — you know that. 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



KNOWLES— WeU, that is what you 
are paid for aren't you? 

IRA — Look here, Mr. Knowles, I've 
been special of&cer and general superin- 
tendent of tliis bank for six years, and 
in all that time you haven't given me a 
decent room to live in, and you know 
it. I'm tired of playing meek. I've 
asked you to give that room a good 
papering, to put new matting on the 
floor, and to replace that corn husk 
mattress with something more com- 
fortable. There are lots of mice in that 
shed and worse in the walls. 

KNOWLES — Someone has been put- 
ting notions in your head, and you bet- 
ter get rid of ideas which will make 
you continually discontented. You 
have got along pretty well in that room 
and I guess you can continue without 
much inconvenience as you are; how- 
ever, I'll go so far as to send Martha 
down some day to look the place over 
and report what she thinks should be 
done. 

IRA — (Exasperated.) Mr. Knowles, 
you have said that to me at least a 
half-dozen times, but Martha never 
comes. I won't be contented with be- 
ing put off any longer. 

KNOWLES— (Whistles.) You won't, 
eh? 

IRA — No, sir, I won't; and now we 
are talking, I might as well relieve my 
mind on the matter of salary, too. 

KNOWLES — You are coming it 
strong. What's the big idea now? A 
palace to live in and a hundred dollars 
a week? 

IRA — I want a living wage, that's 
what I want, sir. 

KNOWLES — A living wage. Oh, I 
know where you got that phrase. From 
some of those waps who aren't worth 
fifteen dollars a week, but who are 
pulling down thirty-five a week in the 
factory. So, the walking delegates have 
been talking a living wage to you, have 
they? 

IRA — I haven't talked to any of 
them. I don't need to. I tell you I am 
getting too little from this bank to 
support myself and my mother proper- 
ly and in good health. Eighteen dol- 
lars a week don't buy what it did 
three years ago, and you know that, 
sir. My hours are half again as long 
as the factory hours, and my pay x 
less. Is that just or right? 

KNOWLES— Yes, it's both just and 



right. Wages, my dear young man, de- 
pend upon supply and demand, and it 
would be poor business for me to give 
a man incapacitated to do a full man's 
work a full man's pay. If you could 
go into the factory and work alongside 
the others, you could command their 
pay, but as you can't, I'm doing you a 
favor by keeping you in a position that 
is respectable — a gentleman's position. 

IRA — I don't care two cents about 
respectability, as you call it. I want 
enough to live on, and I want at least 
one night off in which xo enjoy myself 
like other young people in the town 
and factory. 

KNOWLES— (Getting angry.) I 
have had enough of this, young man. 
You better understand when you are 
well off, and cut out demanding this 
and that. Suppose your hours are long, 
your work is largely loafing, with 
plenty of time to read and talk with 
your friends. You have a snap, you 
live on easy street in comparison with 
real workers and producers. I shall not 
raise your wages, so get along about 
your work and let me get to mine. 
(Starts to look over papers as though 
interview were over.) 

IRA — (Stands silent a moment.) I 
have made up my mind to leave, sir, if 
you can't see your way to give me a 
raise and provide better, cleaner quar- 
ters. 

KNOWLES — So that is the threat is 
it? So, the walking delegate has really 
been talking with you, and whispering 
his poison in your ear. Very well, you 
can go when you get ready, and I am 
inclined to discharge you on the spot. 
Don't think because the boys are all 
gone to war, or are working in the fac- 
tory, that I can't replace you. 

IRA — By next Thursday afternoon, 
sir, if you still refuse my just requests, 
I shall have an answer for you, whether 
I shall leave or not. 

KNOWLES — You are a fine type of 
guardian, aren't you? You have the 
duty of protecting the people's sav- 
ings, and becaiise you think help is 
scarce you talk to me of leaving your 
trust. You are that sort of a hero are 
you? All your boasted devotion to 
duty melts away because you cannot 
get what you do not earn. You needn't 
look for anything from me next Thurs- 
day, so you had better consider very 
carefully who there is to give you a 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



job, the easy kind of employment 
which one of your disability must 
have. I think I have said my say 

— and you (A young country couple 

enter the bank. Knowles pauses a mo- 
ment.) You had better think weU be- 
fore you call a strike in the First Na- 
tional Mapleton bank, young man. It 
would look well, wouldn't it, in the 
Loganville Courier: "The trusted 
guardian of the Mapleton bank, who 
for six years has faithfully protected 
the savings of the people, has gone on 
strike and left the bank without pro- 
tection," Think it over, Ira. 

IRA — I have thought it over, and I 
ask you to do a little thinking also. 
(Goes out right.) 

(Dennis W. Wiggs and Loretta Gil- 
gum Wiggs stand at cashier's window 
waiting to be served. They have the 
awkward appearance of country newly- 
weds. Both sunburned. They bear their 
wedding clothes uneasily, and show 
they are about to take a journey.) 

KNOWLES — (Going to cashier's 
window.) Well, well, Dennis and Lo- 
retta, I suppose the knot is tied, and 
you are man and wife. 

DENNIS — (Grinning and giving Lo- 
retta a squeeze.) We be Mr. Knowles, 
she's promised to love, honor and obey, 
and I swore to cherish till death do us 
part. 

LORETTA — You ought to have been 
at the weddin', Mr. Knowles. Mrs. 
Avery, she fixed up the parlor some- 
thin' swell; white ribbons, apple blos- 
soms, asparagrass and red and yeller 
paper chrystianthums right over 
•where we got hitched. 

DENNIS — How do you like our rigs, 
Mr. Knowles? 

KNOWLES— I can't see, Dennis, the 
entire effect of your wedding clothes. 
Suppose you come in and let me have a 
look at you. 

LORETTA — Come right in where you 
keep all your money? Ain't you afraid 
we'll steal some of it? 

KNOWLES— I 'U take the risk. Step 
right in and display yourselves. (Knowles 
opens door into baiik.) (Dennis and 
Loretta enter. They are attired in poor 
taste, with striking bows, ties, stock- 
ings, etc., not overdone or too gro- 
tesque.) You are pretty classy. What 
can I do for you, Dennis? 

DENNIS — Mr. Knowles, Loretta and 
I are goin' to see Niagari and to hon- 



eymoon around them Bridal Falls fer 
about a week. You see hayin' don't 
begin right away, and Avery giv us 
both a week to enjoy married life. 

KNOWLES — You have come for 
some money, have you? How much do 
you want? 

DENNIS — (With importance.) One 
hundred dollars — a hundred doUar bill 
if you've got it. We're goin' it kind 
o' steep, but mebbe we won't either on 
us hev another chance for a wedding* 
trip, and so we are going to hev our 
fling, ain't we, Loretta? 

LORETTA — It seems like a heap of 
money to sjiend in one week, but, ez 
Dennis says, it's just for onct. 

KNOWLES— (Goes to safe.) We'U 
see what we can find. Here's just the 
bill, right from the United States 
treasury. It matches your wedding 
clothes. (The two look at bill with 
great interest.) Lucy, come see who 
we have here? (Enter Lucy.) 

LUCY— What's all this? As I live 
if it isn't Loretta Gilgum and Dennis 
Wiggs. What does it mean? 

LORETTA — (With injured dignity.) 
I am no longer Miss Gilgum. You are 
addressin' Mrs. Dennis W. Wiggs. 
(Bows stiffly.) 

LUCY — Dennis, I congratulate you. 
Loretta, I hope you will be happy. 
(Sliakes hands.) How fine you both 
look in your brand new clothes. Come, 
Loretta, sit down over here by my desk 
and let me examine your finery. (Lucy 
and Loretta go riglit, and the two men 
left.) 

DENNIS — I would like to get a look 
into that big box where you keep aU 
them hundred dollar bills. 

KNOWLES — Certainly, come along. 
(The two examine safe. Loretta also 
takes a peep.) 

DENNIS — You must have millions of 
dollars in that big iron chest. I 
wouldn't mind hevin what you keep in 
that cupboard, ha, ha, ha. (Knowles 
and Dennis return to seats.) 

KNOWLES — You will never get it, 
Dennis, pitching hay for Avery and 
milking his cows. Are you getting rich? 
DENNIS — No, I'm not, Mr. Knowles, 
and it's damned hard work, too, from 
six in the mornin' till eight at night, 
and you can't wear togs like these as 
you kin in a bank. 

KNOWLES — How would you like to 
have a job in the bank, Dennis? 



8 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



DENNIS — It would suit me all right. 
It would be easier handin' out hundred 
dollar bUls and takin' in the cash than 
sloppin' the hogs. 

KNOWLES — I wasn't exactly think- 
ing about the position of cashier for 
you because your experience has hardly 
prepared you for that, but you might 
make a good watchman if you have the 
courage. 

DENNIS — What kind of courage do 
you mean? 

ILNOWLES — You know, where there 
is lots of money there may be people 
about who would like to get it, and 
who wouldn't care how they got it. 

DENNIS — (Looking about uneasily.) 
That's right, Mr. Knowles, I've read 
of desprate characters blowin' up 
safes and committin' murder on bank 
offtcers. They told me in the post-office 
yesterday that there are two or three 
suspicious character? about town, and 
a-hangin' about the factory. It may be 
they've got their eyes on this very 
bank. I wouldn't be afraid in the day 
time, but I can't stand the pesky dark. 
I even git the shivers in the barn at 
night when I'm out very late. 

KNOWLES — Of course, you could 
carry a gun. 

DENNIS— That would make a differ- 
ence, but what about Ira? Ain't he 
fillin' the job all right? He's been here 
a good many years. 

KNOWLES — Ira may be leaving 
next week, and I want a real man, a 
strong upstanding man, one who could 
handle any intruder in such a way that 
he would not call again. You are just 
the man, Dennis; what do you say? 

DENNIS — (Uneasy and scared over 
the job.) I'm sorry, Mr. Knowles, but 
Loretta and I hev set our hearts on this 
trip to Niagari, and it wouldn't be 
right to give it up now. I'm much 
obliged, but they are countin' on me 
at Avery's to do the hayin'. 

KNOWLES— Oh, I didn't mean to 
keep you from your honeymoon, but 
suppose I should send for you to come 
to be here on Thursday afternoon to 
begin work. How would that suit? 

DENNIS — (Uneasy.) I ain't got any 
gun, Mr. Knowles, and I dunno ez I 
could use one ef I had it. 

KNOWLES — (Laughing.) That was 
all a joke, Dennis. This bank is per- 
fectly safe day and night. AH the doors 
and windows are locked and barred. 



You wouldn't be in the least danger. 

DENNIS — Thursday would be kinda 
short for Loretta and me to break up 
honeymoonin'. 

KNOWLES— It might be I could let 
you stay longer, say, till Friday or Sat- 
urday. 

DENNIS — I guess I hed better stick 
to the farm, Mr. Knowles. Fact is, I 
ain't comfortable in these tight shoes 
and this derby hat. I b'lieve Avery's 
cow barn is as far ez — 

LORETTA — (Who has caught the 
drift of what has been said) — What are 
you talking about, Dennis Wiggs? Of 
course you.'ll take the job if Mr. 
Knowles wants you' We can cut our 
sugarin' off a day or two if necessary. 
Ef you would feel safer at night I'll 
stay with you till ye git used to it. I'll 
show any burglars that Mrs. Loretta 
Giigum Wiggs ain't scared to meet any 
of them. You'll take the Job, Dennis. 

DENNIS — Loretta, didn't that min- 
ister make you promise to love, honor 
and obey? It looks like you wuz tryin' 
to make me do the obeyin'. 

LORETTA— Yes, Dennis Wiggs, and 
it isn't the last time you will obey me 
if you don't know for yourself what is 
good fer ye. We'll take the position, 
Mr. Knowlss, and come back Thursday 
if you say so. 

KNOWLES — Does that go, Dennis? 

DENNIS— (Giving- liard looks at Lo- 
retta.) I suppose so ef Loretta hez got 
her mind set on being a banker. How 
much is the job v/uth? 

KNOWLES — What does Avery give 
you? 

DENNIS — You hev to remember, Mr. 
Knowles, I've got Loretta to care for 
now. We couldn't git along on fifty 
dollars a month and keep. 

KNOWLES— I'U do the right thing 
by you and Loretta. What do you say 
to eighty dollars a month and the 
two rooms over the shed? If Mrs. 
Wiggs wants to do the scrub — house- 
keeping about the bank there will be 
extra money for you. What do you say? 

DENNIS — I reckon. 

KNOWLES— Very well, Dennis, I 
shall expect you twelve hours after you 
receive my telegram teUing you to 
come. (Taking roll of bills from 
pocket.) Here, Dennis, I want to make 
you a wedding present. There's two 
dollars to do what you like with. Don't 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



say anything about your new job until 
after you get my message to come. 

LUCY— (Taking a five dollar bill 
from her i)urse) — Loretta, accept this 
five dollar bill for a wedding present; 
you may find some use for it when you 
set up housekeeping. 

LORETTA — Oh, Miss Lucy, you are 
too good. 

DENNIS — (Still worried over new 
job, rolls bill absently and sticks it in 
Vest pocket. Puts on hat and starts to 
go.) 

LUCY — Haven't you forgotten some- 
thing, Dennis? Something very impor- 
tant? 

DENNIS — (Feeling desperately for 
his hundred dollar bill, when he hears 
a sob from Loretta.) Wall, I'U be dog- 
goned; goin' off without Loretta, hon- 
ey mo onin' — but I would have thought 
of her before I got to the station, that's 
a sure thing. (Takes Loretta by the 
arm.) I hevn't got used to a wife, 
that's all. Don't take on so, Loretta; 
it's all right. Good-bye, Miss Lucy; so 
long, Mr Knowles. (Both go out.) 

KNOWLES — (Gets up and goes over 
to where Lucy is sitting.) Lucy, take 
this dictation. (Lucy writes.) Judge 
David Hilton, Red Lands Oil Company, 
Red Lands, Arkansaw. Dear Judge: I 
have a small revolution in my bank. 
Those fakirs from the wire and muni- 
tion factory have got to my man, Ira 
Hathaway, and put all kinds of notions 
in his head about a living wage and im- 
proved living conditions. It is a well- 
known fact that there is not a man to 
be had to take Ira's place, and what is 
more, he knows it. There is no doubt in 
my mind that he is in touch with union 
leaders, who say they w?U stand behind 
Mm. His tone has suddtnly become ar- 
rogant and insulting. The unions will, 
of course, intimidate anyone who at- 
tempts to take Ira's place. 

You once wrote me that you knew 
the head of our Metal Trades Union, 
Tom Walsh. I anticipate trouble with 
that fellow, who has, I believe, been or- 
ganizing everyone into what he calls 
the "one big union." 

If it were only a matter of my man 
alone the case would be simple. It isn't 
hours or wages that are bothering me, 
it's the principle of the thing. This 
dictatorial tone employes and labor gen- 
erally are taking — as though the busi- 
ness of production belonged to them — is 



reaching a limit. This seems to me a 
fine time to give the proletariat a black 
eye right here in Mapleton, and it 
might be heard of elsewhere with ex- 
treme satisfaction. 

You, Judge, have been through all 
this many times, and on a much larger 
scale, and you know how to handle 
these radicals who threaten the very 
foundation of our commercial and po- 
litical system. I understand the West 
has hit upon effective methods of treat- 
ment. 

There is a kind of half-witted farm 
hand who will come, but he hasn't the 
courage of a chicken, and would only 
encourage trouble. 

If I could once get hold of the skunk 
who stirred my man up to threaten 
strike I'd make jelly of him. You have 
my sentiments. Early advice will be 
appreciated. 

Yours, 

ROBERT P. KNOWLES. 
Read that last paragraph, Lucy, it 
may sound a bit strong. 

LUCY- — (Reads.) (Knowles listens 
tensely and absent-mindedly grasps 
Lucy's shoulder.) "If I could get hold 
of the skunk who stirred my man up to 
threaten strike, I'd make jelly of him" 
— Uncle, you are hurting my shoulder. 

KNOWLES — I beg your pardon, 
Lucy. 

CURTAIN. 

End of Act 1. 

Raise the Curtain for Act XL 

ACT IL 

Seene^the same as Act I. 

Time — Noon-hour Saturday. 

(Lucy and Grimes at cashier windows 

receiving deposits and savings from 

factory hands who have been paid off. 

It is the end of the line, and only a few 

stragglers are left. Grimes is busy with 

several meii and a woman while the 

scene with Lucy and her customers is 

in progress.) 

LUCY — -(Jason, a young mill em- 
ploye, stands before Lucy.) What can I 
do for you, Jason? You are almost the 
end of the line. I had given you up. 

JASON — Add five more bucks to my 
account. (Passes in book, which Lucy 
signs ami liands back.) 

LUCY — You certainly are doing well, 
Jason; your little account is growing 
steadily. 

JASON — We are making the coin, 
but it costs more to live. (Jason makes 



10 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



way for a stocky little Italian, Tony 
Patroni.) 

LUCY — More savings, Mr. Patroni? 
You are a good customer. 

TONY — Worka hard, maka de mon. 
Pretty soon I send for de woman, and 
wea buya de house. 

LUCY — That will be splendid. Does 
Mrs. Patroni want to come to America? 

TONY — You beta, when I send her 
de mon, and dey giva de pass porta. 
(Takes printed paper from pay enve- 
lope and hands it to Lucy.) I found 
this witha my mon. What does it say? 
Reada, please? It may be citizenship 
papers, or what you think? 

LUCY — (Reading paper to Tony. 
Others stop and listen.) "Workmen 
produce and prosper. Do you remember 
those two apple trees by the old stone 
wall? One bore apples and was laden 
with fruit every year. The other pro- 
duced less apples each year. The farmer 
enriched the roots of the one which 
produced, and neglected the other, 
which was finally cut down and made 
into firewood. Will you be like the first 
tree or like the second? Will you pro- 
duce and be enriched?" 

TONY — Yes, I know. I goa buy a de 
farm, I raisa de fruit. I sella de apples ; 
then I getta rich, eh? 

LUCY — That is not exactly it, Tony. 
It means for you to go on producing 
more in the factory, and then you will 
get rich. 

TONY — Den de bossa he getta de 
mon, Tony he getta de wage, eh? 

TOM WALSH — (Strong, large man 
with intelligent face. Full of assurance 
and independence of spirit. He is 
the head of the large metal trades 
union.) That is certainly a fine sermon, 
Miss Knowles. We all get something 
like that in our pay envelopes. Some 
of us are getting tired producing more 
fruit for the bosses to pick. We are 
getting ready to pick our own fruit. 

LUCY — Yes, I know that, and you, 
Mr. Walsh, are making a lot of trouble 
for the bosses, as you call them. They 
are coming to the end of their patience. 
You had better go slowly in your de- 
mands. There are forces at work to 
crush all your unionizing activities, and 
they are forces that are not accustomed 
to failure. 

WALSH — I know you to he a good 
niece of your uncle, Miss Knowles. 



(Counts out bills.) Please add that to 
the union's account. 

LUCY — Five hundred dollars. Is that 
right? The union must be prospering. 

WALSH — We are learning as well as 
the capitalists that money talks. We 
owe our last raise to the union's reserve 
fvmd. Where is Ira Hathaway? I hear 
he is thinking of leaving the bank. 

LUCY — He will be in about noon. 

WALSH — Tell him I am anxious to 
see him, and I will call around later. 

LUCY— (Earnestly.) He needs a 
friend of the right kind, Mr. Walsh. 

WALSH — You are a puzzle, Miss 
Knowles. I wonder sometimes whether 
you are a banker or a worker. 

LUCY — I believe you go too fast and 
too far, but I admire yoiur fighting 
spirit and the way thousands of you 
people get together and work for one 
end. I fail to follow you when you 
talk of changing a whole economic sys- 
tem, 

WALSH — The time is not far distant 
when you will change your mind, be- 
cause there are reasons which will com- 
pel you to follow us. Don't forget to 
tell Ira. (Exit.) (All customers leave 
bank.) 

LUCY — (Grimes and Lucy putting 
money away in safe.) We have done 
v/ell today, Grimes. 

GRIMES— What? 

LUCY — (Close to Grimes' ear.) I say 
the factory people have done well this 
week. (Lucy goes to her desk and takes 
out box containing ear trumpet and 
listening apparatus.) I have brought 
you something, Grimes. You remember 
your promise. (Loudly.) Grimes, come 
here a moment. 

GRIMES — (Coming down slowly and 
looking with dismay at the instrument.) 
It's no use. Miss Lucy, I can't hear one 
word you say. A machine like that 
might be all right for some, but I am 
too far gone. I couldn't hear anything 
you were saying to Tom Walsh or to 
Patroni. 

LUCY — Now, Mr. Grimes, you said if 
I would send for this you would try 
it a month. Here it is and you must 
begin now. 

GRIMES — My hearing days are over. 
It will only make me look foolish. I 
know what your uncle will say — foolish 
expenditure of money. Must I wear it 
in the bank? 

LUCY — Of course you must, until 



11 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



you get used to it. (Fastening it on 
Grimes ' head and adjusting the ear 
piece.) Now stand over at your desk 
and listen. (Grimes does as told. At 
first there is a flush of hope in his face.) 
Now, can you hear me, Mr Grimes? 

GRIMES — (Putting hand to ear as 
though in pain. I told you it's no use. 
Just a lot of rumbling and confusion. I 
heard my name, that's all. Here, take 
it back. It would make me ill with 
worry. (Starts to give audiphone back 
to Lucy.) 

LUCY — Now, Mr. Grimes, you are not 
playing fair. You promised to try it 
long enough to get used to it. The first 
person who listened through a tele- 
phone couldn't hear distinctly. You 
needn't be ashamed. It's small, and 
uncle will never notice it. If you heard 
your name you can learn to hear other 
words. 

GRIMES — It will be torture, but I 
suppose if I promised I must wear it a 
little while. 

LUCY — You certainly must. 

GRIMES — I shouldn't like your 
ancle to catch nie trying this out. He 
would discharge me for insanity. 

LUCY — All right, we can go into the 
clerk's office and give it a good test. 
(Rings electric bell for Ira, who enters 
immediately from right.) Grimes and I 
are working in the clerk's room. If 
uncle comes in and wants us, tell him 
to ring. 

IRA — Certainly, Lucy. (He exam- 
ines lock he was fixing and is by grill 
door when Banker Knowles enters, with 
a telegram in his hand.) Miss Lucy 
and Grimes are doing some work in the 
clerks' room, and she said to ring if 
you wanted them. 

KNOWLES— It 'sail right, I'd rather 
be alone for a time. (Ira makes no 
move to go himself.) I said I would 
rather be alone. Isn't that plain? (Ira 
goes out quickly.) (Knowles reads tele- 
gram again.) The judge is a seven- 
day wonder. (Takes up telepho'ne.) 
Give me 15-3^— That you Morton? Can 
you leave the factory for a few mo- 
ments? — Yes. Very important; con- 
cerns us both and the bank. — Thanks, 
I'll wait for you. (Rings phone again.) 
438. Is Mr. Kramer in? Tell him I 
should like to see him right away — yes, 
matter of pressing importance. — Oh, I 
beg your pardon, I thought you knew 
my voice; I'm Knowles of the Maple- 



ton bank. Please tell Kramer to rush 
right over — Thank you. (Takes news- 
paper out of pocket and begins to read. 
After a moment rings for Lucy.) (Lucy 
enters.) 

LUCY — Did you want me, sir? 

KNOWLES— What do you think of 
our half-page ad in the Courier, Lucy? 

LUCY^(Looking over uncle's shoul- 
der.) That ought to bring business. 
What do you hope for the added ex- 
pense? 

KNOWLES— I'm fishing for those 
shoe operatives over in LoganviUe. 
They are making big wages. 
LUCY — Mr. Kramer ought to be 
pretty good to you when you give him 
so much business. 

KNOWLES— He should, but he's not. 

LUCY — I admire Kramer's independ- 
ence and courage. 

KNOWLES — He's too damned inde- 
pendent — I bag your pardon — but the 
editorials he put out during the last 
strike in the factory were absolutely 
disloyal to the country; they were se- 
ditious, and a body blow at every large 
and successful corporation. Those strik- 
ers got enough courage out of that rot 
to stick until they won. 

LUCY — If you could see the way the 
deposits were coming in you wouldn't 
feel so badly. Walsh brought in five 
hundred dollars today. 

KNOWLES— The deuce he did! More 
union funds. They are playing a shrewd 
game, those men. When they get eight 
or ten thousand they will strike again. 
Watch 'em. I woiUd rather have that 
money to distribute among the stock- 
holders than to have it go in the form 
of wages among men and women who 
haven't the slightest idea of the value 
of money. 

LUCY — You are always preaching 
thrift, uncle, and now the factory peo- 
ple are saving more than ever before 
you ought not complain. 

KNOWLES— Lucy, you talk like a 
radical. I only hope none of them get 
hold of you with their propaganda; I 
believe they would find you fertile soil. 

If Ned Errickson were here he would 
be rolling up his sleeves and preparing 
to give Labor such a licking as would 
set it back to where it belongs, twenty 
years or more. (Reading ])aper.) Speak- 
ing of angels, here he is (Reads aloud.) 
"Lt. Edward Errickson of Mapleton, 
U. S. A., 114 infantry, while out scout- 



12 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



ing with a troop of French, was at- 
tacked and siirroTiiided by six Huns. 
The young American battled like a su- 
perman and before the Germans had 
time to know what was happening he 
had thrust his bayonet into four with 
the approved twist — (Lucy utters a 
slight seieam and sinks in chair) — and 
laid the other two low with revolver 
shots. 

"When questioned about his exploit 
he only laughed and said he wished 
there had been six more. His bravery 
and prowess is the talk of the trenches 
and has brought him the honorable 
Croix de Guerre." 

How's that for fame and a fair lady? 
(Looking at Lucy, who lias covered her 
face with her hands.) What's the mat- 
ter with you, young lady, crying when 
you should be shouting for joy, and 
the glory of Mapleton? 

LUCY — I know it's foolish. I wish 
I hadn't been born with such a vivid 
imagination. All I can see is Ned 
standing above those six Germans wip- 
ing the blood from his bayonet and 
laughing at the exploit. Perhaps each 
of those men had a home and children. 

Oh, of course it's war and glory and 
all that, but how can I ever blot that 
picture from my mind? If he had shot 
them it wouldn't seem so bad, but to 
gore them like an angry bull, and then 
laugh — ugh. (Covers her face again.) 

KKTOWLES — You are a sentii-iental- 
ist, Lucy, and I am ashamed of you. 
Ned's done a big and a glorious thing. 
I'm glad he isn't here to see how you 
take it. 

LUCY — I admire bravery and true 
courage as much as anyone, and I know 
what it means for those boys to be over 
there sacrificing their lives for an ideal, 
but I simply can't think of Ned Errick- 
son in quite the same way. I wish I 
could, but I can't. There's something 
wrong. 

KNOWLES — You are a fool and I've 
no patience with you. You don't de- 
serve a man like Ned. (Grimes enters 
from right.) 

GRIMES — (As he comes in.) It's no 
use, Miss Lucy; it doesn't work. 

LUCY — (Going quickly to Grimes.) 
Remember you promised you 

KNOWLES— Hello, what's aU this? 
What won't work? 

LUCY — (For a moment embar- 
rassed.) What do you think, uncle? I 



try to introduce an improvement into 
Grimes' bookkeeping and he refuses to 
admit any change. 

KNOWLES— You covld be employed 
to better advantage, Lucy, than trying 
to change anything that has been run- 
ning in the same rut for twenty years. 
You ought to know better. Let the old 
fossil alone and tend to your own work. 
(Grimes, who has the hearing instru- 
ment attached to his ear, looks up, and 
an expression of pain comes over his 
face.) (He goes to work on his books 
and is quite forgotten. Lucy is busy at 
her desk.) (Morton of the factory en- 
ters. Knowles opens door into grill and 
welcomes him.) 

I am glad to see you, Morton. Sorry 
to bring you away from your mill on a 
busy morning, but I have something to 
talk over. Sit down. Have you read of 
Ned Errickson's exploit, how he put 
six Huns under the sod? 

MORTON— (Shrewd Yankee type of 
manufacturer. A man who has worked 
all his life and expects others to do the 
same. Tall and angular and a contrast 
to thick-set, solid Banker Knowles.) 
Yes, I read that in the Courier; great, 
v/asn't it? I'm saving a place in the 
factory for that boy. He is the kind 
we ar3 looking for, with the courage 
and manhood to tell Labor a few plain 
facts in a plain, blunt way. Have you 
noticed in the New York papers how 
this revolt of Labor is spreading all 
over the country? 

KNOWLES— Notice it? I should say 
I had. The time is fast coming for a 
show-down between Capital and Labor. 
We either stop this thing or go out of 
business. I say stop it now. 

MORTON — It takes a banker to talk 
big things, but there are limits even to 
what bankers can do. 

KNOWLES — Sit down, Morton; there 
will be an important visitor here any 
moment. (Morton sits.) 

MORTON — This sounds interesting. 
What's up? 

KNOWLES — Everything is up. Small 
things become great. Straws show 
where the stream is running. There is a 
river needs damning in more ways than 
one, and I propose to begin right here 
in the bank. 

MORTON — A vast number of schemes 
are hatched in the banks. We majiu- 
facturers know that. The financiers 
after all are the great world chess-play- 



13 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



ers. What is on your mind? Out with it. 

KNOWLES — I have labor troubles of 
my own, right here in the bank. Oh, you 
needn't look surprised. I have a threat- 
ened strike. 

MORTON — A strike, you? Why, 
you haven't more than six employes al- 
together, and one of those is your 
right-hand man. Miss Lucy there, your 
own niece. You a strike, ha, ha, that 
makes me laugh. But if you have, I am 
glad of it because you have always had 
such good advice for me with my labor 
conflicts. Now you are calling on me to 
give you advice. That is good. 

KNOWLES— You can laugh if you 
like. But this may concern you more 
nearly than you guess. You can help me 
or not as you like. I have always told 
you that Labor could be beaten if the 
forces of Capital got together and 
worked with brains. 

I am going to give you a few pointers 
about a strike. My man Hathaway has 
threatened to walk out next Thursday 
afternoon unless his demands are 
granted. 

MORTON — A one-man strike; that is 
better yet. (Laughs.) 

KNOWLES — it now looks to me as 
though he thinks he can force me to 
yield, because he has the same people 
behind him who forced you to their 
terms. (Morton at ouce interested.) 
Now perhaps you will be serious. 

MORTON — So! Tom Walsh again. 
You are in for trouble. 

KNOWLES— So they think. Ira has 
been with me for six years as gentle as 
a lamb. Now he demands; now he 
threatens desertion. They beat you, 
now they think they can force my 
hands, Robert P. Knowles. But I'll see 
them to hell first. 

Here's my man turning impudent, 
neglecting his work, reading question- 
able books, and — 

LUCY — (Can stand it no longer and 
rises at her desk.) I can't sit here any 
longer and listen to your slander of Ira. 
(Crosses and confronts her uncle.) 

KNOWLES— You can't, eh? 

LUCY — No, I can't. You know per- 
fectly well that Ira has been to you 
over and over again and asked you for 
a better room and higher pay. He's 
told you of his mother, whom he sup- 
ports. You are wronging him when you 
say he is impudent and unfaithful. You 
should be fair. 



KNOWLES — (Sits a moment amazed.) 
Since when, young lady, did you become 
champion for Ira Hathaway. What's 
between you? 

LUCY — There is nothing between us, 
and if there was, you have no right to 
put such a question now. I ask only 
for justice and fair play as I would for 
anyone in your employ. Ira has served 
you faithfully and deserves better than 
this. 

KNOWLES — Please, understand, 
Lucy, that this is a matter between Ira 
and myself, and we don't need your 
advice nor criticism. I think it is time 
you and I came to an understanding as 
to who shall run this bank. For the 
present you may take your books into 
the next room; I shall call if I want 
you. 

LUCY — Very well, sir. (Takes her 
papers and goes out right.) 

MORTON — Regular little spitfire, 
isn't she? Does she see anything in Ira? 

KNOWLES— What! a Knowles see 
anything in a Hathaway? You are jok- 
ing. You must think she has lost her 
mind. 

MORTON — You never can tell. Ira is 
doing some thinking, and writes well. 
I've seen several of his letters in the 
Courier recently which show he has 
been busy with his books. Kramer told 
me the boy has brains that might land 
him somewhere with a little more edu- 
cation. 

KNOWLES — Don't be misled. Lucy's 
heart is bound up in the trenches with 
a boy who has just received the Croix 
de Guerre. I must admit she didn't 
seem much delighted over his exploit, 
however. 

MORTON — I should hate to disillu- 
sion the young lady, but my boy Ralph, 
who is in the same company with Ned 
Errickson writes me that Ned is ter- 
ribly smitten with a French maid. If 
there has been anything serious between 
him and Lucy, it looks bad for her. 
(Takes letter frcm pocket.) Here, read 
for yourself. (Knowles reads.) 

KNOWLES — Ned is going it pretty 
strong. Kind of tough on Lucy, I must 
admit. I guess the lads are lonely as 
hell over there, and flirtations are com- 
mon enough. (Lays letter carelessly on 
desk.) 

MORTON — Come, Knowles. What is 
at the bottom of your strike, as you call 
it, and why am I interested? (Looks 



14 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPT-E 



toward Grimes, who is working on the 
other side of the room.) 

KNOWLES — Oh, he doesn't count. 
He's as deaf as a post and as reliable. 
He's about the most valuaole asset this 
bank has, because he tends strictly to 
business and never knows what is going 
on around him. Ideal employe; I don't 
kiiow how I could run this bank with- 
out him, but thank goodness he is un- 
able to hear the arguments of such a 
man as Walsh. I am absolutely certain 
Walsh has filled Hathaway 's head with 
revolt. That Labor leader is a radical 
as you know to your cost, and he's 
planning some kind of a revolution at 
the right moment. It is Walsh's busi- 
ness to get everyone into some kind of 
a big union, and he needs Ira. 

MORTON — I see, you think Ira is but 
one link in a long chain. Break him, 
break the big idea; is that it? 

KNOWLES — Yes. Ira represents a 
force. In this case he is the wedge 
backed by Labor impersonated by 
Walsh. Lick them this time, lick them 
next time, and set up a merry skid for 
Labor all along the line. 

MORTON— But if Walsh and the 
whole metal trades are back of your 
man, what can you do? 

KNOWLES — We can do eversrthing. 
We can utterly discredit Hathaway, 
Walsh and the entire union. We can 
deposit the whole bunch in a way that 
will make them know it is but the first 
punch of a ten-round finish. 

MORTON — You forget one important 
fact, Knowles. 
KNOWLES— What is it? 
MORTON— The sympathy of the 
people. Nothing can be done unless the 
mass of people are with you. The peo- 
ple of Mapleton and of the factory, yes, 
of Loganville, too, will stand back of 
Ira and make him a martyr. When you 
discharge him my employes will with- 
draw their savings. Have you thought 
of that? 

KNOWLES — Now you have struck 
the crucial point. I admit the need of 
backing by the people of Mapleton and 
of the factory. There must be some 
way to turn public opinion, and I con- 
fess I need advice. 

MORTON — You are lost, Knowles, un- 
less you are wiser in getting the peo- 
ple with you than I was with my 
strikes. The whole community wanted 
to see the employes get more wages, 



and I had to give in. You haven't the 
ghost of a show unless you can make 
the people think you are the injured 
party, and that their interests are en- 
dangered by your defeat. 

KNOWLES— Now I wUl tell you the 
real reason why I got you over here 
this afternoon. There is one man whom 
I know well, who has put over some of 
the biggest financial deals this country 
has known, and who knows more about 
handling Labor than any other employer 
on the face of the earth, I believe. He 
has won strikes over and over again. 
He has studied this matter of public 
opinion until he has made a fine art of 
it. He can turn the trick for us. 

MORTON — You refer to Judge James 
Hilton, I suppose. 

KNOWLES — You have guessed it. I 
wrote him of my situation and of what 
I believe is behind it. I spoke of Tom 
Walsh, who is the only Labor leader 
who ever forced the judge to a com- 
promise. Walsh used to be in Arkansas. 
My answer from the judge has just 
arrived in the form of a telegram. He 
is coming here this afternoon, but cau- 
Jtioned me not to let it be known. He 
^is on his way to Pennsylvania, where 
f. he has large oil interests and some new 
I' wells. 

;. MORTON — I declare, Knowles, you 
talk as though you had the entire Labor 
problem on your shoulders, and that you 
were determined to solve it once and 
for all. 

KNOWLES — Before we get through 
with this you will agree with me that 
the game is not small. When bankers 
turn their minds to a human problem 
like this we don't let go until something 
breaks. 

MORTON— What do you think the 
judge can do for us? 

KNOWLES — Frankly, I don't know, 
but if he is interested enough to come 
here in person, instead of writing he will 
have something worth, while, depend 
on it. 

You understand there are three par- 
ties to this game. You and the judge 
represent the great employing class, I 
the bankers who put up the money, and 
third comes the press, which must do 
our bidding and sing our songs. When 
we three go a-hunting there will be some 
big killing — 

MORTON— (Shocked.) Killing? (As 
he draws back from the table he acei- 



15 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



dentally sweeps his son 's letter to the 
floor without noticing it.) 

KNOWLES — Oh, don't get excited. I 
am not out with, machine guns and that 
foolish kind of rot. This can he done 
by less rough methods. 

MORTON — What about the press? 
KNOWLES — I have telephoned 
Kramer of the Courier, and he will be 
over soon. I'd rather he and the judge 
did not meet, but it would make no 
great difference; I am sure Kramer can 
be influenced. 

MORTON — In this case, Knowles, you 
will find that the press is against us. 
Kramer is more than half with Labor 
and he's mighty independent. 

KNOWLES — How much advertising 
do you give the Courier? 

MORTON — Some weeks three hun- 
dred; last week it ran as high as four 
hundred. 

KNOWLES — Good; I do equally as 
well. The truth is, Kramer is absolute- 
ly dependent on us. I have looked into 
his finances carefully as a good banker 
should. He'd go bankrupt without us. 
(Outside door is beard to open.) That 
may be him now. (Knowles jumjis up 
with evident excitement and goes into 
outer bank where he meets the judge as 
he enters.) (The judge is a man of over 
sixty, quite gray, vigorous and alert. 
Nothing distinctive about him except 
his face, which shows at once the judge 
iii a man of very large affairs, a man 
who is rather the lawyer and financier 
tlian the typical captain of industry. 
His is the command of intellect, balance, 
experience and calculation, a winner in 
the game of life.) 

KNOWLES — This is most kind of 
you, Judge; come right in. You are the 
one man on the face of the earth I want 
to see most. (Both men enter inner 
bank. Knowles takes the judge's coat 
and hat and hangs them up, talking at 
the same time.) Allow me to introduce 
Mr. Morton, president of the Morton 
Wire and Cartridge factory, and also 
one of the directors of this bank. He is 
one of us and knows the predicament in 
which the bank is placed. 

JUDGE HILTON— Glad to meet you, 
Morton. I know all about you; twice 
beaten by your employes led by Tom 
Walsh. That's a pretty poor record, 
Morton; makes it harder for the rest of 
us. (Shakes hands.) 
KNOWLES— I don't remember that 



Mapleton ever had the honor of a visit 
from you before. Judge. Won't you re- 
consider and give the town an oppor- 
tunity to welcome you in the town hall? 
JUDGE — (Impatiently taking out his 
watch.) Knowles, I telegraphed you 
that I would have about half an hour 
with you, and that I didn't want it 
known that I came here. Matters of 
pressing importance call me to Pennsyl- 
vania. I am facing labor troubles of my 
own which makes yours appear like 
child's play. (Catching sight of Grimes 
he suspiciously nods his head in that di- 
rection.) We must be alone; is that dis- 
tinctly understood? 

KNOWLES — He is as deaf as his 
books and as faithful and trustworthy 
as a pet dog. You may feel perfectly 
free. 

JUDGE — My presence here, I repeat, 
is strictly confidential, and when I leave 
you are to forget that I have been here. 
Your letter reached me as I was about 
to start east. What you said at first 
struck me as ridiculously trivial and in- 
consequential. But I believe we can 
make it important at a time when the 
unbridled forces of Labor are fast get- 
ting out of bounds. 

MORTON — You are right, Judge Hil- 
ton, discontent is spreading with every 
workman's victory; take my own case — 
JUDGE— (Nettled at the interrup- 
tion.) Yes, you bungled matters as bad- 
ly as you could, and have done your full 
share to bring us to our present pass. 
(Morton starts to reply, but is stopped 
by the judge with an imperious ges- 
ture.) Let me do the talking if you 
please. 

JUDGE — I don't mind letting you 
know that the entire Labor situation is 
just about as bad as it could possibly 
be and production continue. Another big 
victory would be our complete defeat — 
that's for you, Morton. Defeat is star- 
ing us in the face. I'm no alarmist, you 
know that, Knowles, but I see what em- 
ployers are up against. Do you mind 
getting me a glass of water, Knowles? 
(Pause while the water is brought.) 
Thanks. We are at locked horns with 
capital sinking to its knees. Study the 
strikes over the country for the last 
month. That's the answer. Detroit, 
Kansas City, Chicago; I teU you they 
are coming at us like a race horse. 

KNOWLES — The bankers are alive 
to what's doing. Even the big bankers 



16 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



down in New York have taken alarm. 
They don't talk for print, but they are 
scared. But what's to be done, Judge? 
MORTON — Yes, Judge, where is this 
thing going to stop? 

JUDGE — (Rising with slight signs of 
agitation. Taking several paces up 
stage, returning and facing the two 
other men.) It's going to stop right 
here in the town of Mapleton. (Pauses 
for it to sink in.) The reason your af- 
fair is not trivial is because you are 
dealing with Tom Walsh, the shrewdest, 
most determined, far-seeing radical in 
the country. He's the only union man 
with whom I have had to compromise. 
I'd go two thousand miles any time to 
give him the licking that is due him. 

KNOWLES— We are here. Judge, to 
take our lesson and obey your com- 
mands. Morton and I have agreed on 
that. 

JUDGE — I'll hold you to that agree- 
ment, never fear. I didn't come half- 
way across the country merely to talk, 
but to act. A thorough victory here will 
ease my troubles fifty per cent. This 
little affair will grow to headlines by 
the time it reaches my employes. (Turn- 
ing a keen quick glance toward 
Knowles.) Are the people with you, 
Knowles? 

KNOWLES — I am afraid not, if my 
man Hathaway leaves because his de- 
mands are not gr-anted, I may lose half 
my deposits, if not more. 

JUDGE — We can't win without pub- 
lic opinion. The public is as essential as 
the air we breathe. (To Morton.) They 
weren't with you were they, Morton, 
when you lost your fight? 

MORTON — They certainly were not, 
sir. Neither the first nor the second 
time did they have any mercy on me, 
and the press was bitter in its denuncia- 
tion of me. I was just telling Knowles 
that — 

JUDGE — Never mind now what you 
were telling ; the fact is established that 
the people of Mapleton, of the factory, 
yes, and of the county, are an essential 
factor in the defeat of a strike, in the 
humiliation of your man Hathaway, 
Walsh and their followers. 

The people are against you; they must 
be for you. 

It isn't always easy in these days of 
large profits and rising prices, but it 
can be done. It simply means the game 



is more desperate; and more desperate 
means are required. 

During this conversation Grimes ' desk 
is so placed that he is facing the audi- 
ence, shows by changing expressions 
that he is catching words. At first he 
thinks only that he is hearing words, 
and takes no note of the context. His 
face beams for a time as he gets more 
and more, but finally as the audiphone 
clears and full sentences reach him the 
purport of what he is hearing begins to 
dawn upon him. He senses the plot, and 
he realizes that something of secret im- 
portance is about to be revealed. He is 
conscience struck, but fears to show 
that he has heard as much as he has. 
He does not think to remove his listen- 
ing instrument, but grows more and 
more uncomfortable. 

KNCWL±:s— I believe I would walk 
through hell to win in this affair. It 
seems to me the entire established order 
is being threatened, not merely here in 
my bank, but all over the country, and 
anything to save it is not only justifi- 
able, but even moral and legitimate. 

JUDGE — Good! Hell these days is 
hell only when the means fails to gain 
the desired ends. If you follow my di- 
rections you wiU win. For the time be- 
ing you must look upon me as your gen- 
eral and obey like soldiers. 

KNOWLES — I don't see how you are 
going to turn the people. 

JUDGE — It is because I thought you 
would not know that I am here. We 
are going to play a trump card. It will 
take nerve and the plunging spirit, but 
that should be meat and drink to you 
and me. (Leaning toT.'ard Knowles and 
with emphasis.) You have the savings 
of the county, rich and poor, have you 
not? 

KNOWLES — I am proud to say I 
have, and I have built up my business 
on principles that 

JUDGE — Yes, I know, but that is 
not the point. Hathaway is the guar- 
dian of these savings. It is your de- 
sire to turn the whole population 
against your man, and thus disgrace 
and discredit him, and thereby dis- 
credit those who are associated with 
him. Is that not 

At ';his point Grimes reaches the 
breaking point. He starts to take his 
ledger and leave the room, but in his 
nervousness drops the book. The three 



17 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



men start to their feet like guilty con- 
spirators. 

KNOWLES — What's tlie matter, 
Grimes? (Grimes while picking up his 
book and papers that fell out of it, 
manages to take off the auidphone and 
slip it into his pocket. He is once 
more completely deaf. Knowles goes 
toward Grimes and speaks louder.) 
What happened, Grimes? 

GRIMES — (Apologetic.) I am sorry, 
sir, but I am afraid I heard some of 
the words you were saying, so I 
thought I better not stay. 

KNOWLES — Did you hear who it 
was we were discussing? 
GRIMES— Sir? 

KNOWLES— (Louder.) Do you 
know who we were discussing? 

GRIMES— (Not catching it.) The 
word hell, sir, distinctly the word hell. 
JUDGE— (Slowly articulating.) If 
he heard what we were talking about 
he should be discharged and sent out 
of the county. Eavesdropping is a 
crime which may be punished by im- 
prisonment, (Grimes hears nothing 
and shows by his face that he is ut- 
terly oblivious to the judge's threat.) 

I don't think we need worry. Curi- 
ous, though, he should have been so 
disturbed. 

KNOWLES— (Loudly in Grimes' 
ear.) I've trusted you for ten years, 
and if you heard anything we said I 
hope I can still count on you not to re- 
peat one word. 

GRIMES — I shall repeat no word of 
what I — of what was said, sir. But I 
shall feel better to be in the office, and 
I shall come if you ring. (Exit.) 

MORTON — Curious how he caught 
the word hell, when he was on the 
other side of the room, and couldn't 
get a word of what you were talking 
to him close to. He is not trying to 
deceive us, is he, Knowles? 

KNOWLES— I'll vouch for his hon- 
esty and for his promise that he will 
divulge nothing, even if he did. Now, 
Judge, your plan. 

JUDGE — The people must be with 
you. Fix that in your mind. 

MORTON — Yes, yes, we imderstand 
that perfectly. 

JUDGE — Something must happen to 
arouse the whole community. 

KNOWLES— You are right, what 
shall it be? 
JUDGE— The private and personal 



interests of half the people of the 
county must be touched. 

KNOWLES— Exactly, but how? 
JUDGE — Hathaway deserts Thurs- 
day at 4 p. m. 

KNOWLES— At 4 p. m. Thursday. 
JUDGE — Try as you may, no one 
has been found to take your man's 
place. You expect someone, but he fails 
you. 

KNOWLEC— He wiU come when I 
telegraph. 

JUDGE— (With meaning.) He will 
not come till Friday morning. Friday 
morning; understand that perfectly. 

KNOWLES — You are too deep for 
me, Judge, what are you getting at? 

JUDGE — Sharpen your wits. Thurs- 
day night the bank is unprotected, the 
safe is broken into and the people's 
money taken! 

MORTON — Are you crazy, Judge? 
It would ruin us. 

KNOWLES— (Turning pale, com- 
pletely unnerved as he realizes what is 
in the judge's mind.) I couldn't think 
of it, Judge. I — I — why, man, I have 
built up my business and my reputa- 
tion through years of effort. I should 
never recover. There must be some 

other way. The press, suppose I 

JUDGE — Suppose you remember that 
I am your general and superior officer 
for the time being. You have prom- 
ised to follow orders.. Now, both of 
you act like soldiers. 

You are dipping into world finance; 
you are going to make a move which 
may do what King Canute couldn't do, 
turn the tide. This is your country's 
call; are you ready? 

MORTON— That's a big idea, Judge, 
but how is it going to be carried out 
without ruining not only Knowles and 
me but half the county? 

JUDGE — Did you ever hear of pre- 
paredness? If you know a thing is go- 
ing to happen you can prepare, can't 
you? 

MORTON— (Getting the full force 
of the judge's plan.) You are a won- 
der, Judge. Of course, leave but little 
for the thieves and let them do their 
damndest. The whole county is 
aroused, and Hathaway, the deserter, 
is run out of towL, and Walsh and his 
gang utterly discredited. 

The next time my factory hands talk 
of strike the public may have another 
point of view. Great! 



18 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



KNOWLES — it is all very well for 
you, Morton, to see big benefit, and the 
judge may feel the reaction, but where 
do I come in who allowed such a 
calamity, who didn't provide for pro- 
tection. Can I ever regain the posi- 
tion I now hold? I value the re- 
spect 

JUDGE — Your wits do not rvin as 
fast as I thought they would, Knowles. 
In the first place you need lose very 
little financially, and if the loss should 
be greater than expected, I shall be 
glad to help out. What's a hundred 
thousand or two in a game like this? 
Some of your western investments 
(with significance) — will turn out ex- 
tremely well, and by much thrift and 
careful financiering you will be able 
to pay back your depositors what they 
lost. 

Of course, you will be censured for a 
time for gross carelessness in risking 
a single night, but with the press with 
you, you can ride that out. 

KNOWLES — But who is going to do 
the job? You hardly expect me to rob 
my own bank, do you? 

JUDGE — Absurd, Knowles. Keep 
your hands and your conscience clean; 
be virtuously ignorant. Leave such de- 
tails to me; I have a choice clientele, 
most of them in New York city. They 
are ready for anything, strike-break- 
ing; stone-breaking or safe- breaking; 
it's all one to them. 

You may have already noticed sev- 
eral strangers about town who don't 
seem to have much to do. 

KNOWLES— You don't mean to say 
you have gone that far? 

JUDGE— Why not? When I make 
up my mind to strike for oil I mark 
the hole and don't let the grass grow 
over the place before setting the drill. 
(Looking at watch.) My half-hour is 
about gone. 

MORTON— But, Judge, surely you 
will go into details. 

JUDGE— That is not my business. If 
you and Knowles have not brains 
enough to work it out you ought to 
fail. 

Make use of the local paper. Oh, by 
the way, Knowles, there should be an 
article right away, making the date of 
Hathaway 's walkout plain, and placing 
his case in as bad a- light as possible. 
The press is very important. Here is a 
rough draft of what should be said; 



the editor can work it out from this 
skeleton. Make it plain to your editor 
that nothing favorable to your man 
must be printed. (Putting on coat and 
hat, shaking hands.) Write me how 
things go. You can't fail (Significant- 
ly) — Knowles, if this succeeds, as it 
should, it may make you governor — 
perhaps better. (Exit.) 

The two men sit down dazed with 
the task before them. 

MORTON — It takes a moment to get 
one's breath after that kind of a propo- 
sition. This is just a small incident 
with him, like moving a pawn. A man 
who is watching the whole world be- 
fore making a move; that strikes me as 
Godlike. 

KNOWLES— I only trust it hasn't 
anything to do with the other gentle- 
man who also makes world moves. We 
certainly have our bit cut out for ixs, 
Morton. (Takes article which the 
judge gave him from pocket and looks 
it over.) Think of his drawing up this 
article and having it all ready to give 
the editor. 

MORTON — Are we going through 
with it? 

KNOWLES — I suppose we are, and 
the first thing is Kramer. He wiU be 
here in a moment. These editors some- 
times think they are independent, and 
make an unnecessary fuss when told 
to mind the whip. Kramer is no ex- 
ception and may need a little prod- 
ding. (Door is heard to open and 
Kramer appears.) He is here now. 
(Kramer, the editor of the Courier, is 
dressed rather shabbily, baggy trou- 
sers, hair a trifle long. Has a good and 
intelligent face with strong jaw.) 

KNOWLES — Come in, Kramer. 

KRAMER — How are you, Morton? 
This looks like a prearranged gather- 
ing. What can the Daily Courier do 
for you, gentlemen? 

KNOWLES — I may want to in- 
crease the size of my ' 'Ad' ' next week; 
can you manage that? 

KRAMER — Anything you say, Mr. 
Knowles. You and Mr. Morton give 
the life blood to the Courier. 

MORTON — I can't say you always 
show proper appreciation. 

KRAMER — I know what you refer 
to, Morton; these articles and edito- 
rials while your strike was on. I keep 
my news and editorial policy separate 
from the business office. Money doesn't 



19 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



buy the Courier's ideas or ideals. That 
is my motto, and that was my father's 
motto oefore me. 

KNOWLES— Morton didn't imply 
that he v/ould inflxience you, but it is 
only natural he should expect fair 
treatment, and doesn't think he got it. 

KRAMER— I did what I thought 
was right, and I trust, gentlemen, you 
did not invite me here to condemn my 
editorial policy. 

KNOWLES— Not at all, Kramer; we 
are sure of your sincerity. We want 
your advice on an important matter. 

KRAMER — I shall be pleased to be 
at your service. 

KNOWLES— We heard that you had 
trouble with your printers. 

KRAMER — That has all been fixed 

up. I was forced to grant a raise, but 

the shop is runioing smoothly now. 

Labor is going it a little strong, I 

admit. 

KNOWLES — It's a shame when you 
have always treated your men square- 
ly. There must come a halt somewhere, 
Kramer. Morton and I think that now 
is the time. 

MORTON— Yes, that is our opinion 
and we must have your help. You are 
the public educator, the dispenser of 
truth and wisdom. 

KRAMER — I thank you for the com- 
pliment. The Courier always stands 
ready to serve the public in any just 
cause. 

KNOWLES — That's right, Kramer. 
Here is our situation. My watchman, 
Hathaway, who has taken charge of the 
bank for six years is going to strike. 
The unions are pushing him with the 
promise of their backing. We agree 
with you that things are going too far, 
and we propose to show radical labor 
where it comes to a stop. 

MORTON — You know, Kramer, that 
the sympathy of the people of Maple- 
ton and of the mills will be with Hath- 
away. Now, it is up to you to tell your 
readers some facts, and to let them 
know what's what. They are ready to 
swear by what they see in the 
Courier. 

We are going to win this fight as the 
first of a series of battles looming 
ahead. Are you with us, Kramer? 

KRAMER — You want me to turn the 
public against Ira Hathaway. Is that 
it? 

KNOWLES — This thing is bigger 



than any one man. We ask you to start 
an educational campaign, and the con- 
crete question before you is, will you 
stand back of the bank and factory in 
showing the public that Hathaway is 
the kind of a man to desert his respon- 
sible post as guardian of the people's 
savings for selfish and sordid reasons 
that are purely personal? Back of Ira 
is Tom Walsh and all the heads of the 
unions. (Kramer starts to speak but is 
interrupted.) 

MORTON — If you follow us, Kramer, 
your sheet can head straight for suc- 
cess. This affair is to have state-wide 
publicity; we shall see to that, and the 
Courier can start the biggest ink splat- 
ter since they deposed the Czar. 

KRAMER — I appreciate your good 
wishes for the Courier, but I am afraid 
you have come to the wrong man. I 
have heard cf Hathaway 's demands, 
and believe they may be just. I 
couldn't use my paper to turn the peo- 
ple against him. No, I could not do it. 

KNOWLES— I tell you, Kramer, the 
end in this case justifies the means. 
The critical situation over the country 
demands action, which in a less dan- 
gerous period would be called unethi- 
cal, immoral perhaps, but this kind of 
revolt is war in its way, and you must 
be with the forces pushing for the 
right. Public sentiment is very im- 
portant, and that you can make. 

KRAMER — You have not only got 
to have public sentiment, but the con- 
tinued confidence of the people. If you 
do wrong to secure a right, or use 
questionable means the people will 
eventuaDy see through your camou- 
flr.ge and your propaganda. I can't ac- 
cuse a man who is innocent. 

MORTON— Think, Kramer, this 
country is going through a season of 
insanity and you have a chance 
through your columns to help bring it 
back to what is reasonable and sane. 
The press has got to work with capital 
and with the interests or be responsible 
for a state of anarchy. 

KRAMER — My opinion is that a 
free, fearless press is the greatest safe- 
guard the country can have today. 

MORTON — A sensible, far-seeing 
press is more necessary. Every paper 
should line up with those who are try- 
ing to save the foundations of substan- 
tial American business. 

KRAMER — I don't want to see 



20 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



things go to smash, but how could I 
turn my editorial guns on one whom 
I believe is standing courageously for 
his rights? 

KNOWLES— (Who has reached the 
limit of his patience, rising.) I could 
never see much use arguing with you, 
Kramer. You were always stubborn. 
We have explained why you should do 
this, and if you refuse we shall have to 
look elsewhere. 

KRAMER — What do you mean? 

KNOWLES — I mean we shall find a 
way to introduce into this county a 
newspaper which the sound conserva- 
tive interests can depend upon. Oh, we 
shall not act rashly, of course, and we 
will give you plenty of time to think 
it over. (Handing article to Kramer.) 
Here is the outline of an article which 
states the case as we see it. I trust 
you will find it possible to agree with 
us. If you print it, we shall know 
that you have come to your senses. If 
not — well, that will be time enough to 
make other plans. 

KRAMER — You have asked me to 
sell myself — (Kuowles starts to reply.) 
Oh, don't try to smooth it over. It 
means ruin to me if I refuse to do this 
thing; I know it. You have the power; 
that is the hell of it. You know I have 
a wife and large family whom I can't 
see starve — it isn't fair (with emo- 
tion). If my father were here now 
he 

KNOWLES— (Interrupting). Take a 
night to think it over, Kramer. That 
story is not the terrible thing you seem 
to think.. Your better judgment will 
make it an easy matter. This is a crisis 
and you are not the man to stand in 
the way of reason with false senti- 
mentality. Good day. (Holds out 
hand. Kramer goes without looking 
back, but has the article in his hand.) 

MORTON — I think we have him on 
the hook. Now what? 

Bell is heard and two men appear at 
cashier 's window. Knowles goes quick- 
ly to the window. 
■ KNOWLES— What can I do for you? 

MAN — Will you please cash this ten 
dollar check? 

KNOWLES — (Examining check.) 

Edward C. Beil. I don't know you, Mr. 
BeU, but if you can get this signed by 
two citizens I shall be glad to accom- 
modate you. Where are you staying? 

MAN — We are working at the muni- 



tion factory here in town, but don't 
know anyone well enough to get them 
to sign. (Morton comes up and exam- 
ines the men.) 

MORTON — You are wrong there, my 
friends. You have never worked in my 
mill, and I have never seen you. 

MAN — (Stumped for a moment.) I 
should say, sir, that we have just ap- 
plied, and were told to come to work 
tomorrow. 

MORTON — That will not do either; 
my manager has had strict orders not 
to employ anyone for a week. 

KNOWLES — Look here, young men; 
you are in town for no good purpose. 
You have been hanging around town 
for several days, and the quicker you 
leave the better it will be for you. Now, 
clear out. (Both men look surlily 
about and then walk out.) 

MORTON — I wouldn't be too hard 
on the gertlemen. 

KNOWLriS— Why? 

MORTON — It might ofifend Judge 
Hilton. However, Knowles, if you take 
my advice you'll have the combination 
of your safe changed. 

KNOWLES— (Puzzled a moment.) 
That is so; you may be right. I 
think I shall have the safe com- 
bination changed and take a few 
other precautions. (Goes to telephone.) 
Western Union, please. Take this tele- 
gram: Cascade Hotel, Niagara Falls. 
Dennis W. Wiggin. I shall expect you 
to be on duty Friday morning nine 
o'clock. Take Thursday night train. 
Robert P. Knowles. 

(Presses desk button for Ira, who ap- 
pears immediately.) Ira, I am leaving 
the safe open for the treasurer of the 
factory, who will be in with some 
money. When he has deposited it, see 
that the vault is locked. (To Morton.) 
You might as well ride up with me and 
have dinner. (Rings desk bell for 
Lucy. She enters.) We wiU close now, 
Lucy. You can go to lunch. (Starts to 
go and then turns back to Ira.) Have 
you changed your mind, young man? 

IRA — I stand just where I did, sir. 
Thursday is my last day unless you see 
your way to grant my requests. I hope, 
sir, you will have someone on hand 
to 

KNOWLES— (Curtly interrupting.) 
Don't worry, this bank will have ample 
protectior. (Knowles and Morton go 
out.) 



21 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



LUCY — (Approaching Ira, who 
stands by Knowles' desk.) I have 
brought this trouble on you, Ira, but 
you have behaved like a man, and I can 
hardly say I am sorry. 

IRA— You did right, Lucy, to stir me 
up, and now I am going through with 
it. Your uncle assures me he will have 
someone in my place. I wish, Lucy, I 
could find a way of showing you how 
much I really do appreciate the inter- 
est you have shown in my humble af- 
fairs. It means a whole lot to a fellow 
who has had tko hard knocks that have 



LUCY — (Seps young Morton's letter 
telling of Ned Errickson's perfidy, on 
the floor, picks it up and catches Ned 
Errickson's name. She reads on, and 
it is her expression which causes Ira 
to stop speaking. She reads down, 
crumples letter in her hand, sinks into 
chair as though she were about to faint, 
and then pulls herself together, bites 
her lips to keep grief and anger back 
and finally drops her head on desk.) 

IRA — (Coming close behind Lucy.) 
What is it, Lucy? Is someone dead? 
(Lucy shakes head.) Has someone 
wronged you? If they have, give me a 
chance to show I am not the coward 
some people take me for. Can't you 
let me help you, Lucy? 

LUCY — Please, Ira, I want to be 
alone. This is something for me alone 
to fight out, only it's hard, dreadfully 
hard 

IRA — You are not alone, Lucy. 
Won't you let me show what I think, 
what I feel? You have done so much 
for me, you have lifted me — can't I 
tell you how I — (In emotion lays hand 
on Lucy's shoulder). 

LUCY — Ira Hathaway, don't you see 
I want to be alonn? I asked you to go. 
It isn't fair to take advantage of my 
grief and persist in annoying me. I 
want to be alone. I don't believe there 
are any truly brave and chivalrous men, 
no, not one. (Ira is overwhelmed with 
mortification and shame.) 

IRA — I wish someone would cut my 
tongue out. (Goes out left.) 

LUCY — (Eealizing she has hurt Ira, 
starts toward door.) Ira, Ira, I didn't 
mean what I said. I didn't know what 
I was saying. I do appreciate your 
ssrmpathy — please forgive me. (Ira has 



gone and the door is closed. Lucy re- 
turns to chair and looks again at 
crumpled letter.) And he laughed when 
he had killed six men; l wonder if he 
would laugh now. I had a letter from 
him only yesterday — and he said he had 
no one to love Mm, and no one to talk 
to. And I wrote him of his bravery 
and splendid courage. And SHE is 
wearing his noble French cross. (Grimes 
enters from right. Lucy brushes away 
tears and looks up.) 

GRIMES— (very much disturbed.) 
You gave me ears to hear. Miss Lucy, 
and words came to me. At first they 
were only words, and meant nothing, 
but all at once I realized what youj.- 
uncle was saying, and what the other 
men were talking about. I ought not 
to have listened, but it seemed as 
though I couldn't help it. They were 
the first distinct words I had heard in 
years, and I blessed you and this little 
instrument. It was like a blind man 
gaining his sight. 

And then I heard plots. Miss Lucy, 
wicked plots. It pains me to say it, but 
your uncle is not the man I thought 
him; he is not just, not even fair. 

There is wickedness in this bank 

No I couldn't tell you what. I have 
promised. Great wrong will be done. 
And there is something you ought to 
know, sometliing 

LUCY — Don't say any more, Grimes; 
I know, I found this letter where it had 
been dropped. And you heard this, 
too? 

GRIMES— Don't blame me, Miss 
Lucy. It was this instrument, this that 
might have brought joy to me. (Takes 
audiplione from ear with vicious ges- 
ture, and in desperation throws it to 
the floor.) I wish to God I had re- 
mained deaf. (Takes hat and slowly 
goes out. Lucy puts on her coat and 
hat, comes down to waste basket and 
slowly tears letter to pieces.) 

LUCY — And I wish I had been blind. 

(Rings desk bell for Ira, then goes up 
to grill door where she stands until Ira 
conies in. He enters.) I am going to 
lunch now, Ira. I — I am very, very 
sorry for what I said. I wasn't quite 
myself. I want you to forgive me. 
(Goes out quietly and door is heard to 
slam before Ira moves.) 

CURTAIN 



22 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



ACT ni. 

Scene — Same as Acts I. and II. Five 
minutes elapse between Acts II. and 
III. 

Ira Hathaway is sitting at Knowles' 
desk reading while his revolver lies 
near at hand. He is waiting for the 
cashier from the factory so that he can 
close and lock the safe. Tom Walsh, 
head of Metal Trp.des Union, enters and 
can be seen through the grill. 
WALSH — Are you in, Hathaway? 
IRA — No, I'm out searching for a 
job; don't I look it? 

WALSH — You take it good-natur- 
edly; you seem even happy over it. 

IRA — I'm a natural born actor. I 
have been told that by the fairest 
judge I know, Mr. Walsh. 

WALSH — There are few fair judges 
nowadays. 

IRA — You haven't seen mine. 
WALSH — You talk as though you 
owned a judge, like some other bankers 
I know about. 

IRA — I wish I did own this one. 
WALSH — Miss Knowles told me you 
would be in at this time. I want to 
talk to you, Hathaway. Can I come 
in? 

IRA — Can't you drop in later. 
Knowles wouldn't like to find you here 
with me. We could meet in my room. 

WALSH — Impossible; you don't ex- 
pect the boss back this afternoon, do 
you? 

IRA — No, but Miss Knowles will be 
back most any time. 

WALSH — She won't make a fuss. It 
was she who encouraged me to come 
and see you; she said you needed a 
friend — of the right sort. 

IRA — (Brightening up.) She said 
that? 

WALSH— Sure. 

IRA— Well, I'll take the risk, though 
it's against the rules. (Let's Walsh in.) 
Be seated. What is it you want? 

WALSH — You are going to leave the 
bank, I hear. 

IRA — How did you learn that? I 
haven't talked to anyone about it. 

WALSH — It doesn't much matter 
how I learned about it; the secret is 
out, and it is pretty generally known 
why you are going to go. 

IRA— (Nettled.) What right have 
you or anyone else to make my personal 
affairs matter for gossip? It's a pretty 
pass when one's own business cannot 
be considered private. 



WALSH — You are wrong, Ira, and 
I'll tell you why. As industry is run 
today every wage earner the world 
over should have personal interest in 
every other wage earner. Perhaps you 
were not interested in the strike we 
had in the factory, and you may have 
thought it none of your business, but I 
happen to know at least half the extra 
wage we got goes right here into this 
bank. 

IRA — JJven then I cannot see how I 
am involved. 

WALSH — But we at the factory see. 
We as wage earners do our part in 
bringing prosperity to this bank, and 
then we learn that not one cent extra 
pay has gone to the employes. We 
know that is dead wrong, and we stand 
ready to make a fight for you, even 
though you haven't a union card. 

IRA — I haven't asked for sympathy. 
\'Vnien I do it may oe time to talk 
about it. 

WALSH — Listen, Hathaway. Every 
last factory worker will be with you in 
This. And if I am any judge, three- 
fourths of the citizens of Mapleton will 
be on your side if the facts are known 
IRA— That is mighty good of them, 
but I can't yet see why the whole town 
and miU should fight my battles for 
me. It seems to me this is a matter be- 
tween me and my employer. 

WALSH — Yes, tnat is wnat you bank 
clerks, and the teachers, and the sales- 
men, and officers like you have thought 
for generations, and the result is you 
are the lowest paid workers in the 
country. You never would affiliate, and 
where are you? 

IRA — I am not a radical, Walsh, and 
I am no revolutionist, as they tell me 
your are. I have heard that you are 
dangerous and a menace to the coun- 
try. I don't know what you are driving 
at, and I guess I'll keep out of any 
industrial plots. What would you pro- 
pose if I should agree to your proposi- 
tion? 

WALSH — (Moving close to Ira.) You 
can win your demands because you 
have the full sympathy of the people. 
We are all ready to stand behind you. 
If you say the word I shall see that 
two-thirds of the depositors of this 
bank withdraw their accounts at once, 
or threaten to do so if Knowles doesn't 
come to reason. 
IRA— Is that all? 
WALSH — No. There are twenty or 

23 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



thirty bank employes in this county, 
all underpaid. I'll procure a charter for 
you, form a bank employes' union, and 
two million and a half workers will 
see to it tha!; you are treated justly. 

What do you think Knowles would 
do if he were handed such a threat? 

IRA — I have no intention of ruining 
this bank. Knowles has been unjust to 
me, but he has kept me all these years, 
and I wouldn't feel right to force him 
to the wall for my own personal griev- 
ances, even if I thought I could. 

WALSH — Force him to the wall; you 
talk simple. All he has to do is to give 
you the wage you ask and the living 
accommodations you deserve. If he 
isn't willing to do that, he ought to 
suffer. 

IRA — I have read about this solidar- 
ity of labor. It looks big, and danger- 
ous, to me. I am afraid of it. If the 
wage earners stuck together they could 
run the world, and who knows where 
they would run it? 

Individual liberty, initiative and 
thinking still appeal to me, and I am 
inclined to believe Knowles is right 
V7hen he says the men who work out 
their own careers, independent of large 
organizations, are the winners in the 
end. 

WALSH — (Rising with impatience.) 
You talk like a child, Hathaway. You 
have read some, but not enough. Have 
you lived to be as old as you are now 
and don't know that the biggest and 
strongest organizations are made up of 
these very business men who talk the 
dangers (2 association to their em- 
ployes? Le t me make a bet with 
you. 

IRA— What is it? 

WALSH— I'll bet Knowles and Mor- 
ton have already had their heads to- 
gether over your case, and I understand 
Kramer of the Courier was seen coming 
out of this bank not an hour ago. It 
wovildn't surprise me in the least to 
learn that some of the biggest finan- 
ciers in the country have been consult- 
ed. Those fellows are watching me 
closely, and they, no doxibt, think I am 
with you. 

The big fellows work together like 
clock mechanism. Don't make any mis- 
take about that . .(Strange man enters 
the bank and stands at the cashier's 
window.) 

IRA — (Going to the window.) What 
do you want? The bank is closed. 



MAN — I thought I might catch Mr. 
Knowles before he left. I am very 
anxious to see him. Can I wait? 

IRA — Mr Knowles has gone for the 
day, and will not be back until Mon- 
day. Is there any message? 

MAN — No, it's a personal matter. 
Good day. (Goes out and door is heard 
to slam.) 

IRA — (Eeturning to Walsh.) There 
may be something in what you say, 
Wa'sh. If the men at the top have the 
right to scheme and plan together and 
v;ork as a unit with understanding if 
not actual affiliation, perhaps the rest 
of us are foolish to stand alone. 

WALSH — Now you begin to talk like 
a sensible man. Think it over tonight, 
Ira, and I shall be glad to see you 
again with a definite plan for affilia- 
tion. Here, take some of these pamph- 
lets, they may help to open your eyes. 
So long. (While he is talking to Ira 
the man who pretended to go out ap- 
pears for a moment behind the grill, 
and crosses to the right and disappears. 
Walsh goes out, but fails to latch door 
into grill.) 

(Ira sits in chair by desk looking 
over pamphlets Walsh has given him. 
After a moment of silence the man ap- 
] ears and stealthily slii)s into inner 
bank, revolver in hand. Before Ira 
knows what is happening he is looking 
into the dangerous end of a gun. Ira 
tries to reach for his own revolver, 
which is on desk, but as the muzzle of 
the gun is pressed meaningly against 
his temple he thinks better of it.) 

MAN — Up with your hands. (Ira 
slowly obeys. He is thinking very hard 
what to do. He knows the safe door is 
open four or five inches.) I will kill 
you if you make a soimd. Go to the 
safe and unlock the door. Move! 

(The two men cross the bank from 
left to right. The man keeps his re- 
volver close to Ira's head all the way. 
Each eyes the other closely. For a mo- 
ment they stand in front of the open 
safe which the man thinks locked.) 

IRA — (Then stooping like a flash to 
the handle of the sate door he slams it 
closed, and to make sure, gives the com- 
bination a turn. He then straightens 
up and faces the man with teeth set.) 
Now you can shoot! (It takes a mo- 
ment for the man fully to comprehend 
what has happened, and then he knows 
the game is up and that shooting will 
do no good. 



24 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



MAN — You damned skunk! (Gives 
Ira a heavy blow with the butt of his 
revolver and starts to run out when he 
meets his pal, who has been keeping 
watch. Ira falls limp and senseless to 
the floor.) 

PAL — Where's de swag? 

MAN — The cuss locked the safe in 
me face; blast him. 

PAL — Did ye croke him? 

MAN — Naw, he'll wiggle his fins 
soon enough. 

PAL — I told ye it wouldn't do no 
good trying to double cross the jedge. 
He's the gams old cock, but he don't 
take no nonsense. He'll have us all 
pinched for this. 

MAN — Yas, you're white-livered. 
You know the judge will do the double 
crossin'. If we wait till he says when, 
how much do you spose there'll be? 
Nothin'. I tell ye, nothin'! If I could 
liave pulled this off there would have 
bean something to talk about, but now 
— (Teleplione rings). 

PAL — We better take a sneak and 
make a getaway. Beat it. Come on, de 
"bulls is comin'. (Both run out. After a 
moment of silence front door opens and 
Lucy enters, returning from lunch. She 
first sees the chair upset near her uncle's 
desk and then discovers Ira apparently 
lifeless on the floor near safe. She runs 
to him.) 

LUCY— Ira! Ira! Oh, they have 
killed him. (Grows hysterical.) Ira, 
must you go, too? No, it can't be; he 
mustn't die. Ira, dear, open your eyes. 
(Lifts Ira's head on her knee and 
strokes the hair back. Sees blood 
streaming from his temple.) Someone 
has struck him. (Places Ira's head 
on floor and runs out sobbing. Returns 
immediately with glass of water. While 
she is out Ira move, slightly. Lucy 
again takes his head in her lap, and 
shows by her every motion her real af- 
fection for liim. She eees his hand 
move.) Thank God, he is alive. (Takes 
her handkerchief and tries to tie it 
around his head, but it is too small. She 
then takes her white skirt, and after 
several efforts rips off part of the hem. 
She binds the wound and bathes his 
face until finally he opens his eyes.) 

Ira, can't you tell what has hap- 
pened? (He clutches feebly at her 
hand.) Who hit you, Ira? Can't you 
tell? This is terrible. 

IRA— Where am I? 



LUCY — You are right here in the 
bank. 

IRA — Is the safe locked? 

LUCY— Yes, who locked it? 

IRA — I can't seem to remember. 
(Tries to lift himself, but his head falls 
back on Lucy's knee. She smooths his 
hair.) 

LUCY— Wait tiU I get you some 
more water. 

IRA — No, don't leave, please. (She 
begins to feel a little embarrassed.) 

LUCY — Now, can't you remember 
what happened? 

IRA — (Looking toward safe, then to- 
ward desk. Intelligence gradually 
comes into his face.) He — he — made me 
— go to the safe — he offered to shoot — 
and I — 

LUCY— But he didn't shoot; he hit 
you — why? Did you try to open the 
safe and couldn't? You did not know 
the combination; that was it. 

IRA — The safe was open when I got 
there and I couldn't — 

LUCY — (Breaking in). Oh, I see. 
(Makes a pillow of her coat and places 
Ira's head on it.) He took the money, 
then slammed the door, struck you and 
ran. (She goes to safe and frantically 
works at combination, almost sobbing.) 
If all the savings are gone, what will 
happen to those poor people? It is aw- 
ful. What will uncle say? (Door to 
eafe swings open and reveals the in- 
terior un'^ouched.) 

What does this mean, Ira? Can't you 
tell me? Not a penny has been dis- 
turbed. (She looks at safe, then at Ira 
and desk with revolver on it. She is 
plainly puzzled. Then it suddenly 
comes over her.) Do you mean to say 
that you went to the safe with that 
man pointing his rovolver at you, and 
locked ths door in his face? (Runs to 
Ira again and lifts him a little.) That 
was it, I know it. He might have shot 
you, and you knew it. (He smiles but 
says nothing.) You did a brave deed, 
Ira. That i"? what I call real courage, 
and you should be rewarded. 

IRA — You said you admired bravery 
and that you liked red blood. 

LUCY — But not coming out of your 
head in streams. You deserve the Croix 
de Guerre. 

IRA — (Sitting up.) Lucy, I don't 
want any cross ncr any honors pinned 
on me, but there is one thing — Help 
me up, please. I begin to feel strong 



25 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



again. (Lucy helps him to the big 
chair by Knowles' desk. She places 
coat behind him.) You are very kind 
to me, Lucy. 

LUCY — Ira, you have done a big 
thing for this bank, and if there is any- 
thing I can get for you, or that uncle — 
IRA — Your uncle could not help 
much, but you could; yes, you could, 
Lucy. 

LUCY — That is strange; I have so 
little. 

IRA — Oh, I am not asking for any 
reward; I hope you don't think that of 
me. I simply did my duty, what any 
officer would have done. It was part of 
my day's work. 

LUCY — I heard uncle say you were 
a coward, and I said I didn't believe 
there was any real courage left. I am 
proud of you, Ira. 

IRA — You ought to be if there is 
anything to be proud of. You have 
given me inspiration, made me feel that 
I have powers and possibilities I never 
dared to believe I possessed. (Spre.nd- 
ing out arms.) Observe your handi- 
work. 

LUCY — If that swelled and bleeding 
head is my work, I think I am a poor 
moulder. 

IRA— (Putting hand to head.) Do I 
look so bad? Why, Lucy, where did you 
get this ready-made bandage? 

LUCY— (Embarrassed.) Oh, I have 
carried it with me for some time, for 
emergencies, you know. 

IRA — (Beginning to feel quite him- 
self.) You have been my teacher, my 
labor organizer and now my nurse. 

LUCY— (Thoughtlessly.) I have run 
the gamut, haven't I? There isn't much 
left for me to be. 

IRA — (Lucy's hand rests on desk, 
where Ira impulsively grasps it.) 
There is one more place you might oc- 
cupy, Lucy. (Fervently.) It is you 
who have put the manhood in me. It is 
you who have awakened ambition in 
me, and shown me a goal I might 
reach. 

LUCY — I am glad if my humble in- 
terest has helped you. 

IRA — Helped me? Why, it has made 
life worth living. The books you have 
lent me opened my eyes to a new world 
where there is hope for the masses of 
mankind. Your ideas have so filled this 
bank with visions of better things that 
it has been like a college to me. I 



v/onder how you manage to keep so far 
above the sordid money schemes of your 
uncle. 

LUCY — (Drawing her hand gently 
away.) You are a good deal of a senti- 
mentalist, Ira. Men always have more 
sentiment than women. 

IRA — (Pause while he is shaping 
words which come none too easy.) I 
admit sentiment, Lucy, and I am proud 
of it. But I believe I didn't have much 
before I met you. Sentiment has grown 
?Ed grown in me until it is near the 
breaking point. Will you blame me very 
much, Lucy, if I tell you most all my 
sentiment revolves around and centers 
in one person, and that person is you! 
LUCY — Why, Ira, what do you 
mean? That sounds foolish. 

IRA — Foolish? Perhaps it is, and 
there may not be the slightest reason 
why I should expect any return from 
you, but you have your own self to 
blame. 

LUCY — I to blame, how? 
IRA — Because you are what you are, 
interested in everyone about you; never 
thinking of yourself, but only in see- 
ing that others develop. If I love you 
it's because J. couldn't help it. If I feel 
that I couldn't live away from where 
you are it is for the reason that every 
other place looks black. 

LUCY — What are you trying to say, 
Ira? That blcv/ has unsettled your wits. 
IRA — I was never more sane in my 
life. I came near leaving this bank 
without daring to say v/hat was in my 
heart, but you keep talking about 
courage, and so you are to blame again. 
If you can't possibly ever think of me 
as I feel toward you, then I am brave 

enough to bear it Oh, Lucy, do yoa 

see how I long for you, how I 

yearn 

LUCY — (Much affected and per- 
plexed) — I never thought of this turn; 
truly, Ira, this comes to me as a sur- 
prise. Of course, any girl is pleased to 
be — liked. The accident is accountable 
for this; tomorrow perhaps you would 

feel differently, and then 

IRA — And then — ? 
LUCY — Oh, Ira, this isn't the time 
to make love. Only a moment ago you 
were next to death's door. Let us be 
thankful that your life is saved. 

IRA — Are you very thankful, Lucy? 
LUCY — How can you ask? Of course 
I am. 



26 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



IRA — While I was down there on the 
floor bleeding, it seemed as though you 
really cared — cared very much. 
LUCY— I did, Ira, I did. 
IRA — It makes me happy to hear you 
say that, but I am afraid, Lucy, your 
true heart was far away with someone 
else, even while you stroked my hair 
so tenderly. You were thinking of a 
really brave man. 

LUCY — Yes, Ira. I was thinking of a 
truly brave man. 

IRA — (Bitterly.) I knew it, and that 
is why you were so tender to me, be- 
cause you were thinking of your hero. 
LUCY — There are not a great many 
brave men in the world, Ira — I mean 
truly brave, and you mustn't blame me 
for feeling — proud of one who is. 

IRA — If they had accepted me in the 
draft I might have given an account 

of myself, but I know I have been 

a coward, Lucy, but you are always 
spurring me on to efforts to be courage- 
ous, and I am going to do the bravest 
thing a man can ever do. 

LUCY — Now, Ira, how you talk; 

there is nothing braver than to stand 

up before a ruffian with a revolver at 

your head and lock the safe in his face. 

IRA — Yes, there is something which 

takes ten times as much courage. 

LUCY — You don't mean it. 

IRA — I want you to be my wife, 

Lucy. I want to own you, and I want 

j'ou to own me. There, I have said it 

now, and it has been in my heart for 

months. Don't turn away from me. If 

you do not feel that way, I'll be brave 

enough to hear it now. I — I 

LUCY — I appreciate your feeling for 
me, Ira, but I am frank with you when 
I say it comes as a real surprise. 

IRA — Surprise, you are not blind are 
you, Lucy? Is there no hope for me? 

LUCY— Ira, I— I 

IRA — No, don't say it now; I thought 
I wanted your answer this minute, but 
think it over a day or two; you may 
feel differently yet — you might — 

LUCY— I hardly think I shall feel 
differently, but as you say time does 
strange things sometimes. You see — 
(Door bell is heard to ring.) 

(Factor}' cashier appears at grill door 
with heavy leather bag.) 

CASHIER — Hathaway here? (Ira 

tries to conceal bandage from cashier.) 

LUCY — (Jumping up and going to 

cashier.) Yes, he is here, but he has a 



slight fainting spell. I will attend to 
your money. 

CASHIER— That is too bad. Thank 
you, Miss Knowles. Mr. Morton said 
the safe would be left open, and I see 
it is. (Talks while Lucy helps him put 
money away.) I hope you don't leave 
it unlocked like that very often. There 
is $20,000 in that bag, and you can't 
afford to take chances. (To Ira.) Sorry 
you are going to leave, Hathaway, but 
I hope you don't go until there is some- 
one to take your place. This bank 
m.eans life to many a poor widow and 
laboring man. 

IRA — Mr. Knowles has made ar- 
rangements for adequate protection. 

CASHIER — I have to hurry back to 
the mill. Good luck. (Goes out.) 

(Lucy, who has been impatient for 
the cashier to go, runs over to the tele- 
phone and takes up the receiver.) 

IRA — What are you going to do, 
Lucy? 

LUCY — Telephone uncle about what 
happened, of course. 

IRA — (Eeaching out hand to stop 
her.) No, please don't; it was nothing, 
and you can be sure that man won't 
come back. Promise me, Lucy, you 
won't breathe a word of this to youi 
uncle or to anyone else. Promise, 
please? Your uncle would think I was 
playing for sympathy, and that I had 
staged something for my own ends. You 
won't tell a living soul, will you give 
me your word? 

LUCY — I will, of course, if you in- 
sist, but don't you think you should in- 
form the sheriff? 
IRA— Yes, I will. 

LUCY — You are bleeding again; let 
me fix this bandage right. (Takes off 
bandage, rearranges it and carefully 
binds wound again. She talks as she 
works.) Ira, I don't want you to leave 
this bank. 

IRA— I have done only what you ad- 
vised. 

LUCY — I know that, and I fee] re- 
sponsible. What uncle is wild aboi.t is 
your affiliation with Tom Walsh and 
the unions. He thinks you have gone 
in with those radical organizers. He de- 
clared he wouldn't think of having a 
man in his bank taking orders from an 
outside authority. He is sure you are 
tiying to get out a charter for bank 
employes in this county to form a un- 
ion. 



27 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



IRA — Yoiir uncle is shrewd, but you 
know I haven't gone very far in that 
direction. I have had only one inter- 
view with Walsh, and that you helped 
to arrange. 

LUCY — I know you haven't, but 
uncle thinks you have, and so he feels 
just as angry as though you had formed 
a union. 

I am almost confident that he would 
keep you and give you what you ask if 
he could be assured that you would 
have nothing to do with Walsh and the 
others. 

IRA — I don't believe it would make 
a particle of difference. He has made 
up his mind to get rid of me just to 
prove he is master, and what he says 
goes. 

LUCY — I am as confident he will re- 
consider and keep you. If I could go to 
him and assure him that you will have 
no relations with Walsh and his union 
scheme, and that you will go on as you 
have in the past, he would be glad to 
let you stay. I know he is troubled and 
worried. 

IRA — Lucy, I begin to think Walsh 
has a lot of good hard sense, and that 
his big union isn't much different from 
the kind of associations the bankers 
and employers form for their own pro- 
tection. I am not ready to say he is 
right and that it would be a good thing 
to have a bank employes' union, but I 
am going to learn more about it. 

LUCY — It seems to me he is too ex- 
treme, and wants to change everything 
good and bad. But if he wants to ex- 
periment, let him. You, Ira, can't af- 
ford to throw away a good position for 
any such uncertain revolutionary 
scheme. You have to think of your 
mother. I ask you to let me go to uncle 
and tell him you have nothing to do 
with Walsh and his plan for a charter 
if he has one. 

IRA — Of course, I should like to stay 
on here in the bank, where I have real- 
ly been happy most of the time. You 
know one very large reason why I want 
to be here; you know — — 

LUCY — Now, Ira, we agreed to say 
nothing more about that at present. 
Will you give me your promise so that 
I can tell uncle? 

IRA — I still think you are mistaken, 
but if you really want to intercede in 
my behalf, I should be ungrateful not 
to do my part. 



LUCY — Then that is settled, and I 
know you wiU stay. (Finishes binding 
Ira's head.) There, that will keep your 
red blood from spilling. You are going 
to have need for all you have got. (She 
takes her hat and coat and goes into 
office right. Speaks as she exits.) If 
you have any more callers with guns, 
let me know. 

IRA — (Watching her ^o, and then 
taking up telephone.) Give me Sheriff 
Miller, please. Hello, that you, sheriff? 
No? When will he be in? Oh, tell him 
to call Hathaway of the Mapleton bank 
as soon as he comes in — yes, very im- 
portant. 

CURTAIN 

Act III. — Scene Two 

Thursday Evening 

The bank is lit up; no one is seen but 
Grimes working over his books. He 
looks worried, but at the same time de- 
*,ermined as thougli preparing for a 
crisis. 

The outside door is heard to open, 
and Banker Knowles appeal's with two 
large dress suit cases. He shows at 
once that he does not want Grimes to 
see them, and after hurriedly looking 
for a place to put them, he opens door 
left and drops them inside and shuts 
door. He then sits at his desk and 
nervously glances at Grimes and then 
at watch. Grimes closes his books 
with unusual emphasis. Goes slowly 
into room right and comes out with 
coat and hat; puts them on slowly and 
then approaches the banker standing 
as erect as is possible with his bent 
shoulders. He is under some evident 
emotion. 

Grimes then nervously fumbles in his 
inside pocket and brings out a sealed 
envelope which he holds in hand. 

GRIMES — I have written something 
for you to read, sir. 

KNOWLES— What's the matter, 
Grimes; have you lost your tongue? 
(Grimes does not hear and speaks loud- 
er.) Have you lost your tongue? 

GRIMES — No, sir, but I couldn't say 
it very well. Mr. Knowles, I have worked 
for you for ten years, and I believe I 
have served this bank well. 

KNOWLES— (Puzzled.) There has 
never been any doubt of that. Grimes. 
What is troubling you? The bank 
couldn't run without you, you know 
that. 

GRIMES — (With emotion.) I have al- 



28 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



ways believed in you, Mr. Knowles, al- 
ways believed in your sense of justice 
and fair play. I heard more than you 
thought I did the other day when you 
and Mr. Morton and Judge HUton 
were 

KNOWLES— (Standing up excited.) 
How did you know that was Judge 
Hilton? 

GRIMES — I heard you introduce him 
to Mr. Morton. Yes, sir, and I heard 
most of what you were talking about 
in regard to Ira Hathaway; yes, sir, 
and I heard 

KNOWLES— (Coming close up to 
Grimes and savagely shouting in his 
car.) So you have been playing the 
spy on the bank? Have you been a 
stool pigeon all these years that you 
have been pretending to be deaf. And 
who have you been telling secrets to — 
Tom Walsh? 

GRIMES — You wrong me, sir. When 
I realized I was hearing your secrets and 
your wicked plots; I say wicked plots, 
I started to leave the room, as you may 
remember, sir, and I promised to tell 
no one anything I heard. I always keep 
my promises, Mr. Knowles. 

KNOWLES— (Calming down.) Per- 
haps I was too hasty, Grimes. But I 
don't understand how you could hear 
then and not at other times. There is 
some mystery. You mustn't judge of 
what you heard unless you know what 
I have had to take from Hathaway. 
You don't know how he has tried to in- 
jure me and this bank. 

GRIMES — I only heard what was said 
and I wish to God, sir, I had been stone 
deaf, for you have filled me with 
doubts, with misgivings, sir, and I won- 
der whether the old-fashioned honesty 
has gone, sir, yes, completely gone, sir. 

I can say no more, Mr. Knowles. It 
has not been easy, not easy to speak, 
and you will find the rest in this en- 
velope. (Hands letter to Knowles.) I 
have told no one what I heard, sir, and 
you may trust me, that I never will. 

Can I be of any more service to you 
tonight? 

KNOWLES— No, i shaU not need 
you. (Close to Grimes.) Have you men- 
tioned Judge Hilton's name? 

GRIMES — No, sir, you need have no 
fear. Good night. (Exits.) 

KNOWLES — (fcSlowly opening enve- 
lope when Lucy enters from right of- 



fice. She is prepare "I to go out.) Work 
all done, Lucy? 

LUCY — All except one matter I have 
been wanting to lift from my mind all 
day, but couldn't seem to get a word 
with you. 

KNOWLES — very well, there is no 
better time than now. 

LUCY — I hope you will not misun- 
derstand me. Uncle? 

KNOWLES— Don't I generally un- 
derstand you? The fact is, Lucy, I un- 
derstand you better than you under- 
stand yourself. 

LUCY — Not in this case. Uncle. Sev- 
eral times lately you have failed to get 
my point of view in regard to Ira 
Hathaway. 

KNOWLES— Well, perhaps I was too 
sensitive, and too ready to accuse you 
of other purposes than you professed 
in standing up for that man. But we 
should forget all that now. Hathaway 
has gone and shall never darken these 
doors again. We won't have to quar- 
rel over him any more. 

LUCY — I hope not, Uncle, because it 
is of him I want to speak. I should 
have come sooner, biit you have been 
so much taken up with business, and 
out of town three days, that I couldn't 
seem to manage it. 

KNOWLES— (Impatiently.) I am 
sorry we have to mention his name 
again; I thought I was done with that 
man. 

LUCY — I gathered from what you 
have said that your chief count against 
Ira was his actual or supposed aflaiia- 
tion with Tom Walsh, and his supposed 
interest in joining some union, possibly 
a bank employes' union. 

KNOWLES — You are perfectly right, 
Lucy. No man in my employ, especially 
one who is the guardian of private and 
public funds, shall be affiliated with a 
union of any kind. That is final and 
definite. 

LUCY — I knew your sentiments, Un- 
cle, and I have undertaken to straight- 
en out this unfortunate affair, as least 
so far as I am able. 

KNOWLES— (Losing all his affabil- 
ity.) And how, pray? 

LUCY — I have been to Ira, and have 
told him exactly how you consider any 
kind of affiliation with trade unions, 
and he has promised, (Knowles starts 
to speak angrily.) 



29 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



Please let me finish. He has prom- 
ised to gi\^ up any ideas he may have 
of joining vrith Walsh and others. He 
told me frankly that 

KNOWLES— (Eed in the face and 
thoroughly angry.) You are going too 
far in your interest for this man. He 
is no longer in my employ, and it is 
the best thing that could happen to this 
bank. He has left without knowing 
whether I had anyone to take his place. 
He has been thoroughly indifferent to 
what becomes of the people's money. 
Nothing that you can say, and nothing 
that he can do would make me change 
my mind and take him back. Let him 
go to Walsh and his unions if he likes. 
I'll best them all, and I will teach 
them a lesson they 'Reserve, and which 
they will re:uienibc : for a long time. 

Don't come to me again with your 
pleadings for Hathaway because I will 
lot listen. That is final. You can go. 

LUCY— Good night. Uncle. I hope 
the time will come when you may find 
your senses and deal more justly. 
^ Turns on her heel and walks out.) 

KNOWLES— (In thoroughly bad hu- 
mor, sits down and continues reading 
Grimes' note. Reads.) "I cannot work 
for a man who is not just and fair. I 
have served you many years, and ex- 
pected to end my working days with 
you. It is hard to make a change at 
my age, but I could not stay and be 
happy. I should like to leave at the 
end of a week if that can be ar- 
ranged." 

Another damned ungrateful 

(Clenches fist and striking it hard on 
desk.) It's all part of the conspiracy. 
They are all aft^r old Knowles' scalp, 
are they? I'll show' em. They will be 
singing a different tune when I get 
through with thi) gang of cut throats. 
(Goes to door left and gets suit cases 
and crosses to safe with them. He 
starts to turn the combination and 
reads the new numbers from a card in 
his hand, when a woman's cracked 
\oice is heard singing in oifice right, 
coming toward innei bank.) Damn, 
there comees Lirizie. (He goes quickly 
to his desk, shoves suit cases under 
desk, places combination card in drawer 
and locks it, and pretends to be deep- 
ly engrossed when scrubwoman comes 
in with pail of suds and floor cloths. 
She has seen Knowles lock up card. 

MAGGIE — (Typical country scrub- 



woman who has th-3 appearance of oc- 
casionally taking a nip. An old worn 
bonnet sits on the back of her head; 
her shoes are large and loose. She takes 
no notice of Knowles except for one 
keen, quick glance. Maggie is in reality 
one of Judge Hilton 's gang from New 
York come up to do the job. He is try- 
ing to find out whether there will be 
any watchman that night, and whether 
the safe has been emptied by Knowles. 
He hopes to get moie than is planned. 
Sings as she mops floor awkwardly.) 

There was a man m a tattered gown 

And he was wondrous wise; 

He jumped into a petticoat 

And camouflaged the town. 

I see the young man going out with 
his suit case when I was comin' in. 

KNOWLES — (Looking up sharply 
sees that woman is not the regular 
scrubwoman, Lizzie. I don't seem to 
know you. Why are you here instead of 
Lizzie? 

MAGGIE — (Awkwardly wringing out 
mop and allowing half the water to run 
on floor.) You see I hev been stoppin' 
with Liz for about s. week. My folks 
they live in Noo York. It was like this, 
liz went to a party last night and — 
(giggles) — I guess she had too much 
cider, so I said to Liz, said I, I'll scrub 
the bank for you tonight; so here I is 
instead of Liz. (Gij^gles again.) 

KNOWLES — See that you do your 
work decently or Lizzie may lose her 
job. What is your name? 

MAGGIE — They call me Maggie. I 
shouldn't want Liz to lose her job. 
(Scrubs for a minute.) People hev got 
a lot a sympathy for your man Hath- 
away; et least thet's what I hears. 
(Scrubs some more.) It ain't none o' 
my business, but thet's what they tell 
me. 

KNOWLES — No, your business is to 
get this bank scrubbed and clear out 
as soon as you can. (Lizzie scrubs en- 
ergetically.) So they think I have 
wronged Hathaway, do they? Because 
I am not willing to raise his pay and 
provide him with a parlor to live in. 
They will change their minds. 

MAGGIE — Widow Dean, she's all 
nerved up for fear somethin' might 
happen to the bank afore you find a 
man to take Hathaway 's place. I told 
her you ought to know what ye are 
about, but she's plumb skeered. (Works 
herself toward safe as she scrubs.) 



30 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



KNOWLES — I told her not to worry, 
that there would he ample protection. 
If you see her, tell her Banker 
Knowles has the situation well in 
hand. 

MAGGIE — I thought mebbe the new 
man would be here by now. Perhaps 
he won't git hero tonight. (Looking 
lieenly at Know'.eG.) 

KNOWLES — yen needn't worry. 
Your business is to get this place clean 
and then clear out. 

MAGGIE — If I were a man I might 
volunteer to stay round here tonight, 
but I s'pose you don't want no women 
liangin' round and scarin' off burglars. 

KNOWLES— Would you dare? I told 
you the bank is to be protected. 

MAGGIE — (As she scrubs she exam- 
ines safe, and begins to dust off the 
(ombination with great care. Sings 
tigain.) 

There was a n-an in a tattered gown 

And he was wondrous wise; 

He jumped into a petticoat 

And camouflaged the town. 

And when he found that he was in 

He dipped into a pail of suds, 

And cursed the man who made the 
duds. 

KNOWLBS — Maggie, you are here to 
work and r..ot to sing. 

MAGGIE— What did you say? 

KNOWLES — I said you are not here 
to sing, sing. 

MAGGIE — (The words sing-sing are 
too much for Maggie, who nearly coi- 
l-apses against the safe and lets the pail 
fall to the floor.) 

KNOWLES — Now, what's the mat- 
ter? 

MAGGIE — You said sing-sing so 
kind of sternly, I almost fainted. 

KNOWLES— I did mean it. Don't 
sing any more. 

MAGGIE — (Works a moment and 
then giggles to self.) 

KNOWLES— Now what's funny, 
can't you keep your jokes to yourself? 

MAGGIE — I wuz thinkin' how Liz 
•took her medicine and pills. 

KNOWLES— How did she take 
them? 

MAGGIE — In cider. (Giggles.) 

KNOWLES — Y'ou have a low form of 
wit, Maggie. 

MAGGIE — Thet's because of me pro- 
fession of scrubbing. Mr. Knowles. 

KNOWLES — (Looks with aroused in- 



terest at this humorous scrubwoman.) 
So you think my man is right to strike 
and leave the people's savings unpro- 
tected at a time when it is almost im- 
possible to find anyone to take his 
place? 

MAGGIE — One hes to live; things 
are goin' up, and we wage earners hev 
to stick together. We hev a scrub- 
women's union down in Noo York. 

KNOWLES— (Observing the sloppy 
way Maggie is doing her work.) I 
thought there must be something of 
that sort by the way you do your work; 
the moment the union starts good worK 
stops. 

MAGGIE — It's better 'n bein' a 
slave, as Jim Schwartz of the bar- 
tenders' union said to us. 

KNOWLES — Did your union ever 
strike, Maggie? 

MAGGIE — Yep, we went out on a 
sympathetic strike with the bartend- 
ers just to help 'em out. You see they'd 
helped us mor'n once. 

KNOWLES— Yes, you look as though 
they had helped yo" considerably. I 
suppose you know what is going to hap- 
pen to my man, Ira Hathaway, because 
he affiliates with the unions? 

MAGGIE — He'll get another place. 
A? I told Liz, let him strike when the 
ira is hot. (Giggles.) 

KNOWLES— (Disgusted.) You'd do 
better to talk less and work more. 
Come, get this floor done. I'll go into 
the next room; knocK on the door when 
you have finished. (Exits with papers. 
Maggie jumps up from the floor, goes 
quickly to Knowles' desk, lifts up skirt 
to get jimmie from hip pocket, and 
thereby lets audiencn into secret of his 
sex, pries open drawer, takes out card 
raid copies combination on piece of pa- 
per. Then replaces card and shuts 
drawer. Quickly he pulls dress suit 
cases from under desk and makes sure 
they are empty. He then takes a care- 
ful look at safe and combination. Then 
goes to door of office where Knowles 
is. Knocks. 

MAGGIE— It's did, sir. Takes up 
jail and goes through grill door into 
outer bank.) 

KNOWLES— (Comes in quickly to 
desk, looks cautiously about to see 
whether Maggie has gone. Draws suit 
cases from under desk and starts to- 
ward safe when door bell rings.) 

KNOWLES— What in ! (Shoves 



31 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



suit cases under desk again; outside 
door slams as Sammie, 15-year-old high 
school boy, comes in with evening 
Courier.) 

SAM — Paper? 

KNOWLES — Bring it in, Sammie; 
any news tonight? 

SAM — JNotnmg much, sir. There's 
an article about Ira Hathaway leav- 
ing the bank. 

KNOWLES— (Smiles with satisfac- 
tion.) What does it say about him, 
Sammie? Read it to me. 

SAM — (Reading m schoolboy fash- 
ion, stumbling over long words.) Ira 
Hathaway, special officer for the 
Mapleton National bank, who has 
guarded the people's savings for more 
than six years, has served notice on 
Banker Knowles that he will leave his 
post this afternoon unless demands for 
increased wages and better living 
apartments are granted. 

As Hathaway has been seen lately in 
company with union leaders who are 
known to have radical tendencies, it is 
generally believed that he is the victim 
of unwise and vicious counsel. Indeed, 
Mr. Knowles believes there is a con- 
certed conspiracy among extremists to 
form a union of bank employes of 
Sara,toga county, and that a charter 
has already been granted. 

While the banker declares he has no 
prejudice against unions in general he 
is absolutely opposed to divided con- 
trol when it comes to those whose duty 
it is to guard and protect the people's 
money. Such employes are truly pub- 
lic servants, and must under no circum- 
stances be subject to a strike call. 

The Mapleton bank holds the savings 
of hundreds of widows and poor peo- 
ple who would be left in a pitiful con- 
dition should anything happen to the 
\aults. The banker, however, will do 
his best to procure someone in Hath- 
away 's place and has assured the pub- 
lic that the situation is well in hand. 
Mr. Knowles declared this morning 
that 

KNOWLES— That will do, Sam. 

SAM — Gee! I'm all out of breath. 

KNOWLES — What are people say- 
ing aboiit it up town, Sam? 

SAM — They say you ought to give 
Ira more money and better rooms, but 
they think he has no right to join a 
union, and they say he ought to stay 
till you find someone to take his place. 



KNOWLES— Thank you, Sam; 
here's a quarter for your good reading. 

(Gives money to Sam.) 

SAM — Thank you, sir. Good night, 
sir. (Exit.) (Knowles is about to take 
suit cases from under desk, when Mag- 
gie apjiears in grill door.) 

MAGGIE — I am going now; will you 
pay me for my work? 

KNOWLES — (Showing disgust at 
another interruption.) No! What yoa 
have done isn't worth anything; your 
floor is a mess. I'll settle with Lizzie, 
and you needn't come back.) (Maggie 
goes out. Knowles goes again to safe 
and opens it when the outer door bell 
lings violently.) Oh, hell! Who is it 
this time? (Presses button which opens 
front door. Chucks suit cases into safe 
and shuts safe door. Enter Dennis 
Wiggs and Loretta quite excited.) 

LORETTA — How do you do, Mr. 
lijnowles; we thought you would be sur- 
prised. We got your telegram tellin* 
us to cum and git here Friday, but I 
says to Dennis thet mebby we better 
git home a little ahead o' time, and 
show you v/e ain't the kind what let's 
the grass grow under our feet. 

KNOWLES — I had rather have em- 
ployes who obey directions, and who 
do not think they know better than 
their employer what to do. I sent 
word to you not to come until Friday, 
and you didn't see fit to carry out my 
directions. Is that good business? 

DENNIS — There, Loretta, didn't I 
tell you, but you wuz so plum certain. 
Now mebby Mr. Knowles don't want us 
and it wud serve us right if — 

KNOWLES— (Evidently much dis- 
turbed to know what to do with his 
visitors wlio have come to upset all 
his ])lans.) Did you just come from the 
train? 

DENNIS — We walked right here 
from the station. 

KNOWLES — Did you meet anyone 
who knew you? 

LORETTA — Nope, not a soul, and we 
didn't even go into the station, but 
cum right up here hopin' to find you, 
and we are in luck. If you haven't got 
the rooms fixed up we coiild go to the 
hotel for tonight. 

KNOWLES — Look here, you two. I 
wired you not to ccme until Friday, 
and that is what I meant. I am very 
much displeased that you thought you 



32 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



knew Ijest. I really ought to call our 
bargain off 

LORETTA — (Beginning to repent to 
the point of tears.) I am sorry, Mr. 
Knowles if we did wrong, but we wuz 
so anxious to take the place that we 
cum right along, and we have been 
practicing up, and 

KNOWLES — Practicing up? What 
do you mean? 

LOEETTA — Well, you see we met 
my cousin from Albany, who is a cop, 
and he showed Dennis how to use the 
stick and how to handle his revolver. 
Dennis said he wouldn't be af eared of 
nobody now, didn't you, Dennis? 

DENNIS — I didn't make no such 
boast, but I says that I could give an 
j-ccount of myself. 

LORETTA — See, Mr. Knowles, what 
we got. (Reaches down in her bag and 
jiulls out a long polished policeman 's 
club.) I guess thet'll stop most any- 
thing. 

DENNIS— If it ain't dark; what I'm 
j-fraid of is that I cs:n.'t see what to 
hit in the dark, anf: he might hit me 
first. 

LORETTA — V"v\ never seen Hath- 
«,way wearir.' a '^s.'J.ge, but my cousin 
said a badge is as ^cod as a gun some- 
times, and le*'s '^n know the law is 
after 'em. Ed gave us one of his old 
ones. Show it to Mr. Knowles, Dennis. 
(Dennis turns back lapel of coat and 
displays an old-fashioned police badge. 
"With stick in his hand and badge in 
evidence Dennis begins to feel impor- 
tant and courageous in front of 
Knowles, and swells out his chest a 
bit.) 

KNOWLES — (Looking at his watch. 
He thinks how he can get rid of Den- 
nis.) You look aU right, Dennis, but 
the test cojies when you are facing a 
gun sometime, held m your face by an- 
other man. There is not one man in 
ten thousand who can show courage 
then. I have a proposal to make to 
you two. 

DENNIS — You don't mean you want 
me to look into the muzzle of a gun? 

KNOWLES — You came home before 
your time was up. I know you thought 
you would please me, but you didn't; 
you provoked me more than I can tell 
you. There is an express to Cincinnati 
in just 15 minutes, but it does not stop 
here. I'll give you two another day 
for your honeymoon, and I shall let you 



have $20 for a real good time. I'll let 
John run you down to Ridgeway in my 
car. I do this on condition that you 
never breathe a word to anyone that 
you came here tonight. When you come 
back make believe you came by the 
way of Cincinnati. Will you promise? 

DENNIS— (Glad of another day's 
delay.) Of course we will. You're 
mighty good, and the twenty wiU come 
in good. 

LORETTA — It's a puzzle to me, Mr. 
Knowles, but if you want us to go we 
will. 

KNOWLES— (Taking up phone.) 
Garage, please? This is Knowles, and 
I want to speak to John. John, come 
right round with the car. I want you 
to take a couple down to Ridgeway to 
catch the express; you'll have to hurry. 
(Turning to Dennis.) So, Dennis, you 
think you are ready for an emergency, 
do you? 

DENNIS — Yes, sir, it gives courage 
to a feller to have a good piece of wood 
in his hand. I guess I have got as much 
courage as the next one. 

KNOWLES — (Taking revolver out 
of desk drawer.) Do you think you 
could use that, Dennis? 

DENNIS — I could learn to bead a 
man, Mr. Knowles, with a little prac- 
tice. Is it loaded? 

KNOWLES — Of course, with six per- 
fectly good cartridges. I am going to 
try your courage, Dennis, by pointing 
this at you. 

DENNIS — I know you wouldn't 
shoot, sir, but I — I 

KNOWLES — Suppose I am a burglar 
and it is your duty to arrest me. (He 
backs toward wall where switch button 
is.) 

LORETTA — (Getting excited.) Now's 
your chance, Dennis. Remember George 
Washington and Napoleon and — go 
after him. (Dennis does not seem eager 
to go forward.) 

KNOWLES — I am going to shoot, I 
am going to shoot. 

(Dennis begins to back instead of go- 
ing forward. Loretta gets behind him 
and tries to push him forward.) 

LORETTA — Where's your courage, 
Dennis? Go after him. 

KNOWLES— (By electric button.) I 
am going to shoot. T Pushes button and 
the bank becomes perfectly dark.) 
Take care, Dennis. 

DENNIS— Don't, Mr. Knowles; 



33 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



please don't. Oli, don't shoot. (A 

chair is heard to overturn and there is 
noise of scuffling about the room.) 

KNOWLES— (Turns on lights. Den- 
nis is discovered over back of safe with 
both hands to his ears, the picture of 
abject terror. Loretta S3es him and is 
completely disgusted.) 

LORETTA — (Brings, Dennis down by 
th : arm.) And you said before we got 
married tha'; you would be my hero, my 
soldier. (P'ks up stick that Dennis 
has dropped.) 

DENNIS— (Still weak from fright.) 
1 giiess I heel better go back to 
Avery's, Mr Knowles. Milkin' cows 
and pitchen hay ia my profession, and 
fighten burglars ain't. 

KNOWLES — I guess you are right, 
Dennis. (Auto horn is heard.) But any- 
way take a day to think it over. Here's 
the money I promised you. (Hands $20 
bill.) Remember, not one word to any- 
one. There is the machine, you'll have 
to hurry. 

LORETTA— (Gathers up her things 
and starts.) Come on my hero, my sol- 
dier. (Both go out.) (Knowles, with 
a sigh of relief goes to safe, opens it 
and fills both bags with securities and 
money. Takes out one box, and places 
a handful of bills in it and places it 
back in safe. Closes door of safe, but 
manipulates combination first. Waits a 
moment and auto horn is heard again. 
Knowles turns out all lights but one 
in outer bank, goes out and door is 
heard to close. Auto heard departing, 
f.nd horn gives sense of distance. After 
a few moments quiet a tapping is heard 
at window; it grows louder, and finally 
a hard blow smashes the plate glass 
window, but not in sight of audience.) 

(Three men appear, among whom is 
Maggie, the crook, in his own man 's 
clothes. One man climbs over the grill 
and unlocks grill door. Other two come 
in. They all make for the safe and 
begin to work with the idea of blow- 
ing it open. Maggie, the crook, con- 
centrates on the combination, and in a 
moment takes hold of the handle and 
opens the door wide.) 

SPIKE — Maggie, you're a wonder; 
how did you do it? (All eagerly ex- 
amine strong boxes in safe, using jim- 
mies to pry locks open.) 

MAGGIE — Damn! Cleaned out. 
Double crossed. I told you. (Boxes 



and papers are thrown out on the bank 
floor.) 

SPIKE — This will cost someone a. 
neat little pile; making fools of us. 
The guy who swept this safe might a 
left us carfare. 

DUMPY — Hold on, there is some- 
thing in this box. (Pries open box and 
takes out handful of bills.) 

MAGGIE— What are they? Thou- 
sand dollar bills? 

SPIKE — Naw, tenners (counting). 
Thirty of 'em; a hundred apiece fer 
doin' the job. Kind of 'em, wasn't it? 

MAGGIE — Riskin' our precious lives 
for a hundred! Wait till we make our 
next call. This job is worth a thousand 
at least. 

DUMPY — The old man was shrewd, 
and beat us to it. 

SPIKE — (He is the man who held up 
Ira.) It's a shame I didn't get my fist 
on any of it when I was so close. 

MAGGIE — What do you say we go 
up to the old man's house and make 
him tell us where it is? 

SPIKE — Not on your life; he's got 
the dough where it's safe. You can bet 
on that. 

MAGGIE — Suppose I caU. him up and 
give him a warnin'? 

DUMPY — I dare you, Maggie; be a 
sport. I'll give you a tenner if you 
do. 

MAGGIE— lU take the bet. 

SPIKE — You ain't got the nerve. 

MAGGIE — (Looks in phone book for 
number, takes up receiver.) Give me 
876 — very important. (Angry voice 
over plione.) (Maggie puts hand over 
phone.) He's swearing bloody murder. 
I'll wait till the storm passes. (In Mag- 
gie, the woman's, voice.) Is this you, 
Mr. Knowles? I am Maggie who was 
doin* your scrubbin' at the bank this 
evening. What's that? No, I am 
at Lizzie's. I thought you might want 
to know what I heard ez I was going 
home tonight, Ez I cum by a street 
comer two men was talking kinda low 
and suspicious, so I hid in a doorway 
to listen. They wuz saying what a 
good night it would be to crack the safe 
in your bank. Yes, honest to God. Yes, 
I suppose I am foolish, but I thought 
you ought to know. What's that? The 
bank will be adequately protected? 
(Puts hand over receiver. To com- 
radees. He says the bank will be ade- 
quately protected. (All laugh.) I am 



34 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



sorry to hev disturbed you, but I am 
up givin' Lizzie her pills. (Hangs up 
receiver.) 

DUMPY — Now we better make our 
getaway before the sheriff is waked up. 
(All elip out.) 

MAGGIE — (As he goes out looking 
back at floor). The bank will be ade- 
quately protected. (Exit.) 
CUETAIN. 
ACT IV. 
Scene One 

Six thirty a. m. Bank is still quite 
dark. Just before curtain rises distant 
factory whistle is heard. Mill hands 
on way to work discover broken win- 
dow. Voices at first indistinct grow 
louder and more excited. 

VOICES — Look at the window of the 
bank. Smashed — How do you suppose 
it happened. — Someone crawled in 
there; look at the footmarks. — Burglars, 
I bet. (Louder voice )^The bank Is 
robbed; the bank is robbed. 

ANNA SCHWARTZ— They couldn't 
break in tlie safe, could they? 

JASON BILLINGS — Professionals 
could do anything. Let's go in. 

ABE MORRIS — Perhaps the safe has 
been blown open. 

WIDOW SMITH— (Beginning to get 
excited.) Won't someone go in and see 
if the money is gone. 

BILLINGS— I'll go in. 

HENNESSY — Take care you don't 
cut yourself. (Sounds of entering. Sev- 
eral people secu entering the bank.) 
Everything looks all right so far. Look 
out for yourself, they may be in here 
jet. 

TONY PATRONI— Hava they stola 
my mon? Alia my mon? Let me in. 

WIDOW SMITH— (Insisting upon 
coming through broken window.) If 
my money is gone it will kill me; aU 
my savings. Oh, my poor children; we 
may be ruined. 

ANNA SCHWARTZ— Why don't 
someone climb over and find out wheth- 
er the safe has been opened. (As the 
inner bank is in shadow nothing can 
be seen. The light in the outer bank 
casts its wierd radiance on the increas- 
ing crowd of facees outside the grill.) 

JASON — I will go over if somebody 
holds the chair. (Starts to climb.) 

MORRIS — (Pushes against grill door 
and it swings open. The whole crowd 
rush in. Abe turns on electric light 
near safe and reveals floor of bank 



covered with empty boxes, papers and 
several empty money bags.) Cleaned 
out; the safe's empty! 

HENNESSY— (Picking up empty 
cash box.) Number 83, that's the un- 
ion's box, not a cint in it. Sure and 
there'll be heU to pay. (To people 
crowding around.) Stand back can't 
ye; there's no use pushing like this. 
Can't ye see it's all gone? 

JASON — I'll call up Mr. Knowles. 
(Goes to phone.) Give me Mr. Knowles 
the banker. Hurry, please. — This you, 
Mr. Knowles? I have got bad news 
for you. Your baiilc has been broken 
into and the safe cleaned out. Yes, sir, 
the people are frantic. We will wait 
for you, sir. 

WIDOW SMITH — I'm a beggar 
again, and I worked all these years to 
save. What shall I do? 

PATRONI — I sava two, three, four 
hundred doll to senda my wife, and now 
they stola my mon. 

HENNESSY— Mr. Morton ought to 
be called; he's one of the directors 
of the bank. (Takes up phone.) Give 
me 15 — ring 3 — I want to speak to 
Mr. Morton; no, not a minute. Hurry, 
please? — Mr. Morton, the Mapleton 
bank has been looted of ivery cint. 
I thought you ought to know. We 
found the window broken. In five 
minutes? All right. (To people.) He 
will be right over, and he wiU bring 
the sheriff. 

ANNA — I had two hundred dollars, 
and it took me two years to save, and 
now where am I? Whose fault is this, 
that is what I would like to know? 

JASON — If we can find that out 
someone will have a big biU to pay. I 
think I know who is to blame. Hath- 
away should not have left till Mr. 
Knowles found someone to take his 
place. Ira wasn't thinking of us. He 
wanted a raise, and was wilUng to 
leave the bank unprotected to gain his 
ends. 

HENNESSY— (Growing angry.) You 
are right, Jason. Did you see what the 
Courier said? Listen? (Takes paper 
out of his pocket and reads.) "Ira 
Hathaway, special oflicer for the Maple- 
ton Bank, who has guarded the people's 
savings for more than six years, has 
served notice on Banker Knowles that 
he will leave his post this afternoon 
unless demands for increased wages 



35 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



and better living conditions are grant- 
ed." 

He did leave, and look at the result. 
(Continues reading.) "The Mapleton 
Bank holds the savings of hundreds of 
■widows — (Widow Smith weeps) — and 
poor people who would be left in a piti- 
ful condition should anything happen 
to the vaults. (The reading stirs up 
the crowd.) 

ANNA SCHWARTZ— That's enough 
for me. I thought he had manhood 
enough to protect our savings until 
another watcliman could be found. I 
said he ought to get more pay, but now 
look at him; he has ruined us. 

JASON — He left the bank unprotect- 
ed, when he must have known there 
were suspicious characters in town. 

MRS. SMITH— He must pay me 
back; I can't lose all my savings; I 
simply can't. 

PATRONI— I'U be Got damna; I 
puncha his head. Here I come to 
Americ, I work hard, I save all my 
mon and then they com and take it 
rlla. I say damna. (Noise of approach- 
ing automobile. Morton and sheriff en- 
ter. The crowd makes way for the two 
mon, who examine critically.) 

MORTON— They certainly have made 
a clean jrb of it, sheriff. 

SHERIFF MILLER— This looks like 
a professional job, sir. They must have 
had the combination, or they would 
have blown the safe. (Looking at safe.) 
Here's a place where they began to 
drill. I don't like to think it of 
Hathaway, but it looks to me as 
though he may have given the combina- 
tion numbers. 

MORTON— (Wi*-n emphasis so all 
can hear.) It is hard to believe Hath, 
away would deliberately expose to rob- 
bers all the savings of those whom ha 
called his friends. But when a man 
tries by tlireats of a strike to force his 
employer, then he cannot be trusted; 
he is a deserter 

VOICEt^ IN CROWD— Yes, a desert- 
er. (Lucy Knowles enters out of breath 
as though she had been running.) 

LUCY — I have just heard of this aw- 
ful thing. To think the bank was not 
safe for a single night. My poor friends, 
I am heartbroken for you; I know 
what it means, Mrs. Smith, and Tony, 
and all of you. Have you any clue, Mr. 
Miller? 

SHERIFF— Nothing that would iden- 



tify anybody, but there is always a 
chance when Hi Miller is on the job. 
The thing is to round 'em up before 
^Jiey spend what they got. 

HENNESSY— The first thing is to 
find Ira Hathaway and learn what time 
he left, where he went and whether 
he was seen around the bank after he 
was supposed to go. (Lucy is ab- 
sorbed in looking over the safe that 
she does not hear the discussion.) 

SHERIFF MILLER — Does anyone 
know where Hathaway stayed last 
night? 

JASON — Yes, I do; he took a room 
at Mrs. Shepherd's, and is there yet if 
he hasn't skipped out, and left town, 

MILLER— I'U go fetch him. (Exit.) 

MORTON— Friends, I know Mr. 
Knowles was trying to hire someone to 
take Ira's place, but you know how 
scarce help is. I hardly thought Hath- 
away was the kind of a man to take 
advantage of a short labor market. He 
wouldn't have taken such a step if 
union leaders had not advised him. Now 
look at the result. 

ANNA — He ought to pay us back. 

PATRONI— I will go to the judga. I 
will tella him to maka him giva my 
mon. (Enter Banker Knowles. Ap- 
pears excited.) 

KNOWLES— To think that such a 
thing could happen to the Mapleton 
bank! It is unbelievable. (Sinks into 
chair.) 

HENNESSY — We are all mined, sor; 
even the union has lost its funds. 
(Lizzie the scrub woman enters.) 

LIZZIE — Is It true that the bank is 
lobbed? And it was you, Mr. Knowles, 
who told me to save my money and to 
leave it in the bank. Here I have been 
slavin' and diggin' for ten years, and 
never spendin' anything but for neces- 
sities. 

KNOWLES — I might have had you 
stay in the bank last night, Lizzie, but 
you didn't come and sent Maggie in 
your place, and I didn't dare trust her. 

LIZZIE — Maggie, is it? I don't know 
any Maggie. 

KNOWLES — Weren't you sick last 
night, and wasn't it you who sent that 
woman to scrub the bank in your 
r-iace? 

LIZZIE — For Lord's sake, Mr. 
I^owles, what be ye talking about? I 
was sick, but I didn't send no one, sir. 



36 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



I didn't know the bank had been 
cleaned. 

KNOWLES— (Puzzled.) Did anyone 
telephone to me from your house last 
night? Speak the truth, Lizzie. 

IjIZZIE — I swear, sir. There's been 
no one at my house but my four chil- 
dren and me old man, Ben. That's the 
God's truth, sir. 

KNOWIiES — So Maggie was a crook. 
(Sheriff enters with Ira. Crowd looks 
at him with an^er in their faces.) 

MRS. SMITH— Now he wiU have to 
teU us why he left the bank unprotect- 
ed for burglars to rob. (Ira has a wor- 
ried and disheveled appearance. He has 
his suit case.) 

SHERIFF — There, sir, look at your 
work. Do you know you are responsible 
for this? 

TONY — (Losing control of himself.) 
So you leava the bank; you deserta, 
you leta the burglars loota the bank, 
you maka me a beggar. I cannot send 
for my woman. I could killa you, I 

would (As he rushes toward Ira, 

Sheriff Miller steps between.) 

MILLER — That won't do any good, 
Tony, only make more trouble for you. 
But it ain't that he don't deserve it. 

HENNESSY— We aave lost our 
money, and some of us may have to 
spend our old age in the poorhouse, and 
it's you who are to blame, damn you. 

WIDOW SMITH— Did you think of 
me and my children when you went on 
strike last night? You did not, you did 
not. (Weeps.) 

IRA — Friends, I can't tell you how 
sorry I am that this has happened. I 
know it looks bad. I was told that 
everything would be aU right, and I 
gave plenty of warning that I should 
go. I was told — (Morton breaks in.) 

MORTON — I know what you were 
told, young man. Mr. Knowles told me 
just how matters stood, and how dif- 
ficult it would be to fill your place. He 
was in hopes that you would change 
your mind, and stay on a few days. 
Why did you listen to Tom Walsh? 

SHERIFF MILLER— Mr. Morton, I 
searched his rooms and found this. 
(Takes literature Walsh had given Ira 
out of his pocket.) This is what he 
reads: "Revolution," "A New Eco- 
nomic System," "The Rebel," "Work- 
ers Arise," "Own the Industries," 
"End of the Bourgeois," "Victory and 



Votes." What does he care for bankt 
and for those who save? 

IRA — Believe me, friends, won't you 
hear what I have to say for my- 
self? These papers are not mine, but 
were put in my hands to read. I don't 
believe most of what is in them. I 
never stood for revolution. I asked 
only for what all of your demand, a 
living wage, and decent rooms to live 
in. 

I would have cut off my hand rather 
than to have had this happen. 

MORTON— That sounds well, doesn't 
it? This man leaves his sacred trust, 
leaves the bank unprotected. He is 
caught with wild and radical literature 
m his room. He says it isn't his, but 
he had it to read, didn't he? 

ANNA — The Courier called you a de- 
serter; did you know that? 

IRA — No, Kramer would not have 
lied about me. He is fair. I know he 
sympathized with me, and — 

ANNA — (Thrusting paper into Ira's 
hands.) There, read for yourself. 

IRA — (Beads.) "He shows himself 
to be indifferent to the welfare of the 
people of Mapleton; he deserts and be- 
trays — (Puts hand to head, uncon- 
sciously touches place where burglar 
hRd hit him.) My God, friends! Did 
Kramer write that? 

MORTON— It is in his paper, isn't 
it? He saw what kind of a public 
trustee you are, and has spoken pretty 
frankly to his readers. 

IRA — If Kramer wrote that he has 
sold his soul and bis press to those 
who can pay. (Looks meaningly at 
Morton and Knov/les. Turns to 
Knowles, who has been apparently 
numbed by the disaster.) You, Mr. 
Knowles, why don't you say something? 
You told me not to worry, that the 
bank would be protected. Don't let 
these people think I had no interest 
in them, and deserted. 

KNOWLES— (Rises from chair in 
anger.) How can you appeal to me 
with this safe staring you in the face? 
I don't believe you robbed these people 
directly, but you have betrayed those 
who have been your friends. If you 
had cared to you could have learned 
that I had no one to take your place. 
I did think I had a man engaged, but 
no one came. I stand for law and or- 
der, and that is what the citizens of 
this county stand for, if I know them. 



37 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



I'll have no union dictating over my 
head when it comes to the safety of 
the people's savings, and you wiU find 
that no bank will tolerate the kind of 
independence you believe in. 

I made a mistake in not staying 
here in the bank myself last night, and 
I shall be the one to suffer, because so 
long as there is breath in my body 
I shall work to pay back what has 
been taken. I shall not look for one 
cent from you though we know you 
are morally responsible. The people are 
right. Kramer was right. 

We bankers and manufacturers, yes, 
and publishers, too, are not going to 
let such as you and Tom Walsh run 
this country. Understand that. You 
will find every sane and good American 
lined up behind us in a government 
based on law and order. 

Now you can go, and I think these 
people will agree the sooner you get 
out of this town the better it will be 
for yoii. No one will give you a job. 
You thought you would have the whole 
community with you and against me. 
You have played your cards and lost. 
I should have fovmd ways of improv- 
ing your condition if you had re- 
mained, but now wherever you go they 
will point to you as one who deserted 
his trust. 

Hathaway, you have lost your posi- 
tion, the respect and confidence of the 
public, and your friends here in Maple- 
ton. You find yourself absolutely alone. 
(Lucy who has been in the back of the 
crowd scarcely noticed now breaks 
through and takes her stand by Ira's 
side.) 

LUCY — No, not alone. Uncle. I am 
going with him. Friends, this man 
has asked me to be his wife, and I am 
proud here and now to tell him before 
you all who are ready to tear him to 
pieces that I shall be honored to live 
and work with him. (Crowd amazed, 
Ira at first astonished and then over- 
wlielmed.) 

IRA — Lucy, do you mean that? 
(Grasps her hand with emotion.) 

KNOWLES — You can't mean it, 
Lucy. You have lost your mind. 

LUCY — No, I was never more sane 
in my life, but I begin to think it is 
you who have gone mad. No one feels 
worse about what has happened than 
I do, but, friends, it was not Ira's 
faidt. It may be hard to make you see 



it now, but some day you may under- 
stand there has been some wicked 
trickery here somewhere. 

Do you think he willingly left this 
bank where he has been so long? I 
tell you within a few days he risked 
his life to save this bank and your 
money, but he is too modest to say 
anything about it. 

It was not Tom Walsh who advised 
Ira to ask for more wages and to de- 
mand better rooms to live in; it was I. 
Yes, I told him it was not manly to 
go on year after year without making 
a fight for an American standard of liv- 
ing. 

(To Knowles) — Why was the bank 
left unguarded last night. Uncle? You 
say you were careless; were you not — it 
is hard for a niece to say it — but I 
think you were criminal. You told me 
only yesterday the bank had adequate 
protection. 

(To the people) — You turn against 
Ira as though he were a thief, but he 
is the victim of a power strong enough 
to crush you if you make great efforts 
to improve your condition. 

If you are not meek and contented 
in your work, you, too, may be called 
radical and dangerour: 

(To Uncle) — You make a mistake, 
sir, to believe you can continue to de- 
ceive the people in this way; you know 
in your heart you covdd have prevented 
this disaster. 

KNOWLES— (Stepping forward al- 
most beside himself with emotion.) 
Lucy, I am your uncle, your employer 
and I forbid — 

LUCY — (Breaking in) — Just one mo- 
ment and I am through. You are no 
longer my employer, and I am ashamed 
to call you my uncle. You have done 
your best to ruin this man in order to 
carry out some larger issue, which you 
think vital to your business. You 
have apparently succeeded. But you 
are taking a foolish course. You have 
succeeded in making at least two peo- 
ple more radical than they would 
have thought of being. You have made 
me believe there may be a better sys- 
tem than one which must stoop to such 
methods as you are willing to use. 

WIDOW SMITH— But aU this fine 
talk don't bring our money back. 
(Crowd joins in.) 

CROWD — Naw, talk isn't money. 



38 



THE SYMPATHY OF THE PEOPLE 



Let Hathaway bring our savings and 
then you could give us fine words. 

HENNESSY— Ira left the bank 
when there was no one to take his 
place; you can't get around that, Miss 
Knowles. You can't talk to people who 
are ruined; it's money we want. 

KNOWLES— (Coming toward Lucy 
as though to take her by force) — Lucy, 
you are crazy; I won't let you go with 
this man. I tell you — 

IRA — (Stepping in front of him.) 
Stand back, Mr. Knowles. You have 
no legal hold over this girl. She is a 
free American citizen and master of 
her own labor. If she has made up her 
mind to go with me, you and all the 
bankers in the country can't prevent 
her. (To people) — You won't under- 
stand. I cannot blame you, perhaps, 
but the time may come when you will 
learn who the real culprits are, and 
who are your true friends. (To 
Knowles) — You say I have lost, do 
you? You have turned public opinion 
against me. It looks as though you 
had won your game, but the day will 
come when the truth, like murder, will 
out. 

When you say I am alone you make 
a mistake. I shall take with me out 
of this town the best and strongest 
heart in it. I have gained the love and 
sympathy of one I value a hundred 
times more than my job here, and the 
respectability you, Mr. Knowles, 
thought you conferred on me. 

I have lost much here in Mapleton, 
but I have gained a new sense of man- 
hood, of American independence, of be- 
lief in myself. 

I am ready to face the world now. 
Come, Lucy, we'll leave this town 
where we are not wanted. Some day 
there will be another shufiile to the 
cards, there will be another chapter to 
the story and another scene to the 
play. 

Come, Lucy, there is a mother wait- 
ing for us. (Lucy and Ira go out.) 

TONY— (Who has held in as long as 
he could, not understanding what was 
said.) But arn't you a-goin' to giva 
back my mon? I have lost alia my 
savings, you leta me be robbed. 

WIDOW SMITH— Following Ira al- 



most in hysteria.) Are you going off 
and do nothing about our money? You 
don't think of us. 

HENNESSY— We won't let 'em get 
away so easy. We will go to the sta- 
tion with them; then perhaps we may 
find out where our money is. 

CROWD— (Following out of bank, 
growling and behaving as though they 
thought Ira could tell them where their 
money is. It looks threatening for 
Ira.) 

SHERIFF— I better go along and 
prevent trouble; I don't want any 
bloodshed. (Exit.) (Knowles and 

Morton left alone in the bank.) 

MORTON— The Judge is a wonder, 
Knowles. Did you ever see anj^hing so 
perfect. When people are aroused that 
way they never reason. They can be 
led like crazy sheep anywhere. We 
must get to the papers and send this 
story to New York and all over the 
country. 

As the Judge predicted, the first 
blow is given, and it should be only 
the beginning of a whole series of de- 
feats. They will hardly strike in my 
factory very soon. This is the biggest 
thing I ever saw pulled off. 

KNOWLES— I am glad you can feel 
that way, Morton. But I — I really 
loved that girl; why, she was like my 
own daughter. I may have been hard 
on her at times, but it was for her 
good. I suppose you know Grimes gave 
in his resignation. 

MORTON— No, you didn't tell me 
that. 

KNOWLES— He heard too much of 
our plans that day. He promised to 
keep secret, but he left me. This be- 
gins to look like an empty victory for 
me. I am growing old, and I am not 
sure I like to puU the Judge's chest- 
nuts out of the fire for him. (Telephone 
rings violently.) Answer it, Morton. I 
hope nothing has happened to Lucy. 
(Morton puts received to his ear. The 
news he hears puts a look of horror on 
his face. He drops receiver.) 

MORTON— My God, Knowles; 
Kramer has shot himself. 



CURTAIN. 



The End. 



15 



(Copyright, 19LC'.) 
39 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 873 974 4 ^ 



